


Ambrosia

by sksdwrld



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Fluff, M/M, flangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 17:50:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 28,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sksdwrld/pseuds/sksdwrld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco wakes up and finds he has no idea where he is or what is going on.  Harry Potter is there and insists they've been together for years.  Someone is out of their mind...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Draco awoke in the middle of a large bed, his legs tangled up in the white cotton sheets. The air was hot and humid, and there was a slight rocking motion of the entire room that had yet to stop.

“Fuck,” Draco swore, and palmed his face. As he pulled himself into a sitting position, he became acutely aware of a throbbing pain that began behind his left eye and wrapped around to the back of his head. He rubbed his face several times, then lowered his hands to take a gander at his surroundings. He was in a rectangular room with a bed, recessed dressers, and a small walk-in bathroom. It was poorly decorated. When he threw back the curtains, there was a balcony of sorts beyond it. Tiny. And beyond that, deep blue, rippling waters. 

A panic started to rise inside of Draco. He wasn’t sure where he was, or how he’d gotten there. If they were on a vessel, then certainly he had been kidnapped. He looked down, taking a quick assessment of his own body. The first thing that he noticed (and how could he not?) were the Slytherin Green, mesh, see through briefs he was wearing. The only thing he was wearing. 

“Oh fuck!” He’d never seen these panties before in his life. He wouldn’t exactly consider them befitting of the Malfoy heir, let alone anyone expecting to be taken seriously. Beyond that, a few passion marks on his lower belly and inner thigh, and a lone, red bite mark on his right shoulder. From everything he could gather, someone must have cast an Imperious curse on him, then ravaged him. Or maybe he’d gotten drunk and done something horrid. Absolutely putrefyingly horrid.

The door opened and Harry Potter strolled through, with two cups of steaming coffee, from the smell of it. He grinned widely and set the cups down on a countertop, then approached Draco.

“Oh good, you’re up! How’re you feeling, Love?”

Malfoy backed himself up against the sliding glass door that led to the balcony. “What are you playing at, Potter?” He slid a hand down to cover himself, feeling more than exposed in his undergarment.

Harry quirked a brow, and still smiling, approached. “Feeling awfully cheeky for taking a hard hit to the head like that. On-board healer said you needed to rest, but if you’re up for a bit of role playing, I’m game,” He reached for Draco, who side skirted him, and tried to clamber across the bed. Harry easily pinned him, then planted a wet, sucking kiss to the back of his neck, in the same area of the bite mark.

“Gyaaahhh!” Malfoy screamed in protest and wiggled free, backing toward the end of the room Potter had arrived from. “What. The. Fuck. Was. That?!” He wiped all the wetness away and was looking with a mixture of horror and confusion at Harry who was seemingly amused, lying on the bed. “Fuck. Potter. What the hell?”

Draco’s eyes were wild, and his hands were clenching, unclenching, fumbling for something. “Accio wand!” He seemed surprised that it whistled to him so quickly and that Harry didn’t try to stop him. Then closed his eyes and was silent a moment, concentrating. When they snapped back open, he glared at Harry. “Potter! Why can’t I apparate? What kind of wards are on this place? Furthermore, why am I here? What are you doing with me?”

Finally Harry frowned. Something was wrong. Draco only called him Potter when he was angry. Or teasing. And he hadn’t seen that kind of malice in his eyes, toward him anyway, in years. “Sweetheart? Is something wrong?”

“Stop calling me that!” 

“Oh, Merlin’s balls,” Harry sighed and got off the bed. “Draco?” As he neared the blond man, who was fumbling with the door handle, he opened a door, snagging a black silk bathrobe. He held it out to him as he explained, “If you’re going to run away from me, there’s about three-thousand other wizards aboard the ship. You might want to save face and put this on first.”

“Why are we on a ship?” The pitch of Malfoy’s voice was rising every time he asked a question. Nevertheless, he yanked the robe away from Harry and drew it on, belting it tightly.

“Will you calm down and sit down, please?”

“You try calming down when you’ve been kidnapped by the God damned savior of the fucking world!”

Harry had to suppress a laugh. Draco thought he’d been kidnapped? When he’d slipped on the deck, he’d knocked his head pretty hard, but this was almost priceless. “Sweetheart, no one kidnapped you. We’re on our anniversary cruise. We’ve taken one every year for the last six years. In four more years, they’ll upgrade us to the platinum membership. You tried to buy one the first year and they wouldn’t let you? Remember?”

Draco’s face went blank as he tried to process the information. “No. You’re lying. Six years? You and me? Fuck you, Potter. I hate you. What would we be doing together? I’m not even bent. Fuck!” He started to laugh. “You’re bent? Who would have known, The Boy Who Lived, is really The Boy Who Lived in the Closet? HA!”

“Oh Merlin.” Harry wiped his face. “What year is it?”

“Year? Are you off your face? It’s 1998.”

“Dear one,” Harry sighed. “I don’t know how to tell you this. It’s 2010. This is our ten-year anniversary. You turned thirty this year. We work in the ministry together. It’s the reason we started dating in the first place,”

“Lies!” Draco was fuming. “Thirty? You’re implying I’ve missed the last twelve years of my life, Potter. You ought to come up with something a bit more believable than that!”

Harry gestured toward the mirror on the wall across from the bed. “Have you looked at yourself? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love you, and you’re youthful and gorgeous, but you’re no eighteen year-old,”

“Stop saying that. I love you.” Draco scoffed and turned to look at himself in the mirror, then feel oddly silent. He leaned close, examined the structure of his face, which had taken more adult angles. He felt his jaw line, which was prickly with white-blonde stubble, the kind men get after shaving for years. His hair was spiked upward, rather flamboyantly, he thought. And in his earlier self-examination, he had failed to notice he was more muscular than he had been, ten or so years ago. Still gorgeous indeed, he noted. But no lean baby faced boy. 

Then he whirled and looked at Potter, who had undergone a similar transformation. Why hadn’t he noticed before? Oh yes. He was in the throes of panic. Potter’s hair was more well tamed, but still with the Merlin-loving glasses, Sweet Salazar! And he’d lied about being bent. Of course he was bent. But he’d never told anyone. Could what Potter was saying be true?

“Fine. Yes. I see.” Draco snapped. “Both of us, we’re clearly older. But that could be the effects of a potion or curse.” He drew his wand up and pointed it at Harry, who held up his empty hands innocently.

Harry jerked his head toward the countertop. “There, in my wallet, is a picture of us. My favorite picture, I might add. It’s from our first cruise together. Pull it out.”

Malfoy gave a dark look to Harry, but Accio’d the wallet and rifled through it. He found the said picture, and dropped both the wallet and his wand to the floor. One hand gripped the picture tightly, and the other, the countertop, as if he were supporting his weight.

The picture, Harry knew, was of the two of them, on an ever repeating loop, of the two of them snogging against the ship rail, waters lapping peacefully in the background. Then Harry pulled away from Draco, and pointed to the camera with a smile. Draco waved emphatically with a wide grin on his face, then grabbed Harry and they began snogging again. 

Finally, Draco let the picture flutter to the floor as well. He was pale, and looked confused. “Fuck you, Potter.”

“Check your papers,” Harry said weakly. “We have the same address.”

And so it was true. They did. Malfoy slid to the floor and covered his face with his hands. He swore repeatedly, didn’t want to believe it was true. His hatred for Harry seemed as fresh as it ever had.

“I’m going for the healer,” Harry said, stepping past him. “Your clothes are in the closet on the right side. But I’m sure you would have figured that out. You can’t apparate, the ship is surrounded by charms to prevent you from doing so. Please, Draco. Please stay here and don’t go roaming. I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose you,”


	2. Chapter 2

“Stop saying ‘Remember?’! Obviously I don’t! I remember you being a dreadful prat in school. I remember hating your filthy Mudblood guts. And I remember thinking on graduation day that I was done and over with the likes of you. I’m sorry that we seem to have cultivated somewhat of a life together, and I can’t remember a bloody second of it, really I am. Because you’re driving me off the bloody edge about it! And call that bloody room porter already, because if you think I’m sleeping next to you, you’ve got another thing coming!” Draco was pacing back and forth in the room.

He’d been examined by the on-board healer a few hours before, who declared a case of amnesia. They wouldn’t be able to de-board until the following day, which meant that Malfoy and Harry had to share the room they’d booked together for another whole night, and the thought of that was making Draco crazy. Harry had spent the last few hours trying to convince Draco that they were in love, and he wasn’t having any of it. He was stuck in his eighteen year old frame of mind, in which Potter was the mortal enemy.

Harry looked wounded. The hurt on his face was plain as day, and Draco almost felt bad about it. Almost. But the whole story was hard to believe. Finally, Harry shrugged and left the room. He knew where he wasn’t wanted.

The room porter returned shortly, and converted the large bed into two smaller ones, separated by end tables. And then on Draco’s prompt, added privacy curtains like those at Hogwarts. When that was completed, Malfoy threw himself on the mattress, drew the curtains around him, and sulked in silence.

Hours later, the door opened, and Harry’s voice breeched the calm. “Sweetheart? I’m sorry, I mean Draco? Er- Malfoy?”

“What is it, Potter?” The icy tone of his voice showed nothing had come back to him yet.

“It’s our scheduled dinner time. I thought-“

“I’m not hungry,” Malfoy interrupted him. Actually, now that he thought about it, he was feeling a bit ravenous. Bugger.

“Really?” Harry’s voice was incredulous. “But you haven’t had a thing since this morning. I thought you’d be starving by now. You ought to eat, Draco…get your strength up and all that. I don’t know how but maybe it’ll help your memory somehow. You know-”

“Alright! Alright!” Malfoy snapped his response and whipped the bed clothes away from his body before emerging from between the drapes. Secretly, he was glad Harry had pestered him so; it allowed him to change his mind about eating, and maintain his annoyance with Potter at the same time.

Harry stood by, feigning patience, while Malfoy groomed himself. That bit hadn’t ever changed about him. Then he complained about Harry’s choice of clothes, and the motion of the boat, and that the maitre ’d wasn’t wearing gloves.

“Good evening, Sirs!” The waiter seemed quite happy to see them. “Can I bring you your usual beverages to start?”

His overly chipper mood irritated Draco so he fluttered his hand at him. “Yes, of course.” He was busy unfolding his napkin into his lap and rearranging the silverware as he sighed, “Ahhhh, yes. A nice firewhiskey on ice will be quite lovely,”

“Erm, Draco?”

Malfoy huffed and didn’t even look up. “Try not to talk Potter. It will make things easier on both of us.”

The waiter returned shortly, settling a short tumbler glass filled with something the color of coffee and cream in front of Harry, and something flamboyantly pink with a purple umbrella skirting out the top before of Draco. Harry sent the waiter off for waters before Draco had the chance to ream him out. From the look on his face, he was not impressed.

“Bloody hell, what is this?!”

Harry smirked. “A pink lady. Your usual.”

“Oh no. No, no, no, no. My usual is a firewhiskey on the rocks.”

“Your usual used to be a firewhiskey on the rocks. Ever since you over-indulged at your mother’s second-cousin Hildy’s fourth wedding, the smell of it turns your stomach.”

When the waiter returned, Malfoy promptly sent him for the whiskey. In the meanwhile, the two of them perused the menus.

“Oh, sweetheart, that smoked duck appetizer looks right up your alley, yeah?” Harry tipped his menu down with a grin, then immediately hid behind it again. Draco’s look was murderous. “Sorry, love, I’ll try not to say it.” Then he realized what he’d said, and got flustered, and began apologizing again.

“Sweet Salazar, will you shut it!”

“Annnnd a firewhiskey on the rocks!” The waiter set the drink down, but his chipper façade was breaking. “Are the sirs ready to give their food choices this evening, or is it a liquid diet tonight?”

 

Draco purposely didn’t order the duck, although it did look mouthwatering. He didn’t want to give Potter the satisfaction of knowing him so well. He ordered the soup instead, and the first thing he’d seen on the entrée list-a lamb Wellington. Frankly, he wasn’t interested in that either, but hadn’t gotten the chance to peruse the menu as he would have liked. Harry, blessedly ordered the duck, followed by a pasta dish that sounded heavenly. 

When the waiter had gone again, Malfoy reached for his firewhiskey and inhaled the scent deeply. He looked at Harry pointedly as he did so. “Ahhhh-” halfway through his sigh of appreciation, the back of his throat tightened and he gagged softly, turning his face into his napkin. “Oh God!”

“I guess you don’t need me to tell you, ‘I told you so’,” Harry grinned and sipped his own drink.

“Oh, sod off, scar-head!”

 

When their apps came, Draco swirled his soup miserably; Harry poked the duck about slightly, and neither of them ate any of it. After a minute, Harry smiled. “Trade you?”

“Well, if you insist,” 

The waiter returned not long after with steaming plates. “Who ordered the Wellington?”

Malfoy grinned and pointed with his fork. “I believe he did,”

Harry hid his smile behind his napkin and pretended to dab his mouth.

 

“You should have seen yourself at Hildy’s reception. You made a complete arse of yourself,” Harry explained midway through dinner as he snaked Draco’s abandoned whiskey (the pink lady had been mysteriously drained when Harry excused himself to the loo).

Malfoy stabbed his fork into the pasta and twirled viciously. “I am most certain that that is an egregious exaggeration, Potter. Malfoy’s do not make arses of themselves,”

“Well, I’m not sure who you were channeling, but you made an arse of yourself. Drank an entire litre of King’s Crown firewhiskey straight to your head. Tried to get me to dance on the table with you. Your mother was horrified by the way. Told your father how much you hated your great-great aunt Mildred- said her breath smelled like old snatch,” Harry laughed at the memory. “And she was standing right next to you! Oh, and the best part- you felt up the groom on his way to the loo, said you thought it was me. This was all before you passed out and spent the rest of the evening sleeping with your head on the table.”

Malfoy’s mouth hung open and he looked as horrified as Narcissa had on that evening. “Certainly that is not true!”

Harry shrugged. “I’m right positive there’s pictures of it somewhere. The people you didn’t insult thought you were a riot. And for posterity, I would have danced on the table with you, if your parents hadn’t been there. It was our first social outing together as a couple, in your family anyway, and you told me to be on my best behavior or your parents would never accept me.”

“I can’t imagine they ever would, anyway.”

“Actually, I think your mother is quite fond of me.” Harry smiled before forking in another bite of the Wellington.

Draco rolled his eyes. “If you say so,”

 

 

After dinner, Malfoy had insisted on taking a stroll around the boat, alone. 

“I’ve got amnesia you imbecile, but I didn’t forget how to read a directory. I’m sure I can find my way back to the room myself.” What he ended up doing, however, was having a few drinks on the top-deck bar, then staring out over the rail at the blackened sky dotted with shining stars.

By the time he returned to the room, it was so late that he expected to hear Potter snoring. If he snored. But he was a lumbering oaf, and those types always snored. Instead, he heard soft grunts and the subtle slap of skin on skin. Malfoy had already cast the lumos to light his way, and was glad for the privacy curtains.

“Salazar! Potter, are you wanking?”

There was a short silence, followed by a brief, but entirely honest confession.

“Yep.” Harry sighed. “Wouldn’t care to join me, by any chance, would you?”

“Christ. No!” Draco said with revulsion. “God. You’re thirty. You can’t go a night without gratification?”

“Draco,” by the tone of Harry’s voice, Malfoy surmised he had resumed stroking himself. “If we make it through the whole workday without one of us pulling the other into a broom closet, we’re doing good. On average, we shag thrice a day, and on our first day of vacation this year, we stopped counting. I don’t think we left the room once all day for fucking, and not until the following afternoon for sleeping.” His tirade was punctuated by a groan. “You wanted breakfast before a shag this morning, and then you tripped and smashed your noggin, and then all of this has been going down. So I’m glad you’re in the mood to abstain, but my cock needs attention.”

“Oh, Merlin!” Draco sighed in exasperation. “If you’re going to do that, then I’ll be-”

Harry interrupted with a sudden moan of, “Oh, fuck, yes! That’s it! Ahhhhh.” Then there was silence.

Malfoy’s face was red. “Safe to assume you’ve finished then?”

“Yes,”

Malfoy clambered into his bed and pulled the curtains about him before divesting himself of shirt and belt. He kept his slacks on. He clutched his wand in his hand and pointed it toward Harry’s bed, even though they were separated by multiple layers of fabric. “So help me, if you come over here in the night, I’m going to hex your cock into your own arse. Got me?”

“Sounds kinky,”

“Potter!”

“Yes, alright. I’ve got you. I promise. And Draco? I love you.”

“Ugh! G’night. Nox.”

There were rustling sounds, followed by that of shuffling feet.

“Potter! I’ll do it, I swear!” Draco cried out, clutching his sheets to his chest. 

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’ve got to clean up. I won’t touch your highness.”


	3. Chapter 3

Draco got up early and took himself to breakfast. When he returned, Potter was a royal mess.

“Merlin, where have you been? Do you know how worried I was about you? You can’t just leave and not tell me where you’re going!”

“Relax. I went to eat. Didn’t know if you were going to cave to your carnal needs again this morning. I’m a big boy. Can’t apparate off the ship, and unless I threw myself over board, there’s no escaping you,”

Of course he was right, but Harry didn’t like to admit that anymore than Draco did. This old Malfoy was stirring up ancient feelings in Harry, ones he thought had long ago died.

“So you’re not feeling any better then?”

“If you mean do I remember the moment I lost my mind and started seeing you, no.”

Harry tried not to let his hurt feelings surface. “Didn’t bring me back a coffee by any chance, did you?”

“Do you see one anywhere?”

“I’m going for breakfast then. You can pack while I’m gone.” Harry brushed past Malfoy quickly, hoping the other man wouldn’t see the tears in his eyes. He knew it wasn’t Draco’s fault, but he couldn’t help but feel the crushing pain of rejection each time he was rebuffed.

When he returned, more collected, Malfoy was sitting out on the balcony. Nothing was packed. Harry felt a prickle of ire rise within him. He yanked the door open and stuck his head out into the salty sea breeze.

“Thought you were going to pack?”

“You said it, not me. I don’t know which luggage is yours and which is mine.” Draco shrugged and leaned back in the lounge chair, crossing his ankles.

“It’s a matching set. Hermione gave it to us on our five-year. It doesn’t matter whose goes in what.”

Draco only shrugged again, and didn’t meet Harry’s eyes.

 

 

Later, when they debarked the ship, it was Harry who had to wrestle with the luggage. He directed Malfoy to the appropriate port-key, where they waited in line for their turn for transportation back to England. 

“Well, thanks for nothing, Potter.” Malfoy turned to him, shielding his eyes with one hand and reaching for his luggage with the other. “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

Harry gaped at him. “Aren’t you coming home?”

“With you?” Malfoy shook his head. “I don’t think so. These last twenty-four hours have been trying enough on my patience. I may kill one of the both of us if I have to put up with another round.”

Harry suddenly whirled the other suitcase around and sank down on top of it. He pulled his glasses off in one hand, nearly crumpling them in his fist. The other hand pinched the bridge of his nose, shielding his eyes from sight. “Oh, Merlin,” His voice was strained.

Malfoy shifted uneasily from foot to foot. He was fairly certain that Potter was crying. Grown men crying was something he didn’t have coping mechanisms for. He patted the man awkwardly on the shoulder. “I…just…need some time to sort things out.” Draco was certain that Harry would get over him. In time. “You can understand that, can’t you?” Now he was trying to engage the Gryffindor inside Harry. The one that was trusting, and noble, and good. If he could just get away from Potter, then everything would be alright. As soon as Harry gave a brief nod, there was a loud crack, and Malfoy was gone. Harry dissolved into great gulping sobs.

 

 

“Draco, darling!” Narcissa cooed and let her son envelope her in a warm hug. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon. How was your cruise? Where’s Harry?” She snaked one arm out from the embrace and parted the curtains as she looked out over the front lawn.

Malfoy scowled and pulled away from her, frowning. “Not you, too.”

“Whatever do you mean, not me too?” Then she glanced down. “Oh dear. Is that your luggage? You haven’t even been home yet? You didn’t have a row did you? Oh dear.” Cissy took him by the hand and led him into the sitting room, flustering him out of his blazer, which she handed off to a waiting house-elf. “Tell me about it, Draco.”

“You mean to tell me that all this codswhollop about Potter and I living together is true?”

Narcissa looked at him in confusion. “Are you feeling alright, darling?”

“No! I’m not feeling alright!” Draco growled at his mother. “I woke up yesterday on a boat in the middle of the ocean, not knowing where I was or what in Merlin’s name I could possibly be doing there, and then! Then! Harry sodding Potter waltzes in and insists we’ve been shacking up together for the last ten years. Ten years! Can you believe it?”

Narcissa was pale. “But dear one, you have.” She stood and pressed her palm to his forehead, then her lips, as if they would register a different temperature. “I’m going to call your father…” Narcissa straightened and turned toward the house-elf, then changed her mind and didn’t bother with it. “Lucius! Lucius!”

He appeared shortly, looking disconcerted. Narcissa never called for him directly. There must be something terribly wrong. He gave a look to his wife, then smiled over at Draco. Nothing wrong at all, then it seemed, just his only son coming for a surprise visit.

“Draco, my boy! Nice to see you again,” Lucius looked around the room. “Where’s Harry?”

Malfoy groaned and rubbed his face roughly. “Enough with that half-blood twat!”

It took another hour for Draco to re-explain the situation to his father, and then withstand his examinations for a curse or other mal-intent before the Malfoy Sr. allowed himself to accept the previous diagnosis of amnesia.

Draco had only just explained to his mother his intentions of staying at The Manor, when she nearly spilled the contents of the teapot on him as she was pouring him a cup.

“Draco! How can you be so cruel? That’s hardly fair to poor Harry!”

“Poor Harry!” Malfoy was aghast. “I’m the one who has no remembrance of the last twelve years! He’s dreadful! I don’t know what I could possibly have been thinking. Harry Potter. Was I bloody mad?”

“That’s what I said,” Lucius chimed in from across the table.

“Lucius! Bite your tongue!” Narcissa admonished him. “Harry has been wonderful to our Draco all these years. And he’s done a lot for the family. Your association with him, Draco, has really helped to put us in a more favorable position in the wizarding community again,” She smoothed his hair down, then kissed the top if his head. She settled herself down and poured her own tea, stirring the sugar in almost thoughtfully.

“No. I think it’s best for you to go back home. A familiar environment and routine might help jog your memory.”

Draco pouted. “I don’t want my memory jogged if it means I have to go back to living with that oaf!”

“Draco. Sweetheart. He loves you. And you love him. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen two souls more meant for each other than the two of you.” She paused to give Lucius a dark look when he mumbled something about ‘Astoria Greengrass’. “You can stay the night. Look through the photo-albums. But tomorrow, you should go home.”

Getting up, Narcissa patted her son on the shoulder comfortingly. “I’ll get the albums. Then, I’m going to owl Harry. Oh, the poor thing.”


	4. Chapter 4

Malfoy was sitting on the sofa miserably awaiting Harry to collect him. He was still in partial shock that his own mother was practically throwing him out of The Manor and forcing him to stay the only other place he was welcome: with Harry Potter. He was listening for the doorbell, and was surprised to see the man emerge from the fireplace instead. The Malfoy floo was private, and only certain individuals had access. Narcissa wasn’t surprised, however, and came into the sitting room with open arms. 

“Oh, Harry!” She hugged him with equal warmth that she had embraced her own son just the day before. “This is just dreadful, isn’t it? What’s happened to our poor Draco?! You’ll stay for tea, won’t you?”

Finally it was “poor Draco”, but Malfoy couldn’t believe his mother was behaving like that. Even Lucius clapped one hand down on Harry’s shoulder and gave a silent squeeze of support as he passed through the sitting room. Draco pinched the inside of his arm until it was bruised, but there was no waking up from this nightmare. They had accepted Harry into their home, into their life really. This didn’t happen overnight, and must have taken hard work from all four of them to bring about this change in attitude.

“Are those the picture books?” Harry said softly. 

When Narcissa nodded and took him by the elbow, Draco groaned audibly. They both looked in his direction , Cissy with a thin mouth of exasperation, and Potter with a flash of annoyance. Malfoy felt a small triumph at this. If he could get Potter to hate him again, he would be more amicable to breaking up. Draco could move home, to The Manor, where he belonged, and life could go on as usual.

It was Draco’s irritation that bubbled up next, listening to the two of them giggle over pictures and discuss events that had supposedly occurred, but he wasn’t privy to in his own memory.

“Oh, sweet Salazar…” Harry breathed. “Are those from Hildy’s wedding?” At Cissy’s assent, his laugh rose in cadence. “Draco, Love, did you see these?” Then his voice dropped in pitch again. “Merlin, he made such an arse of himself that night, didn’t he?”

When Malfoy heard his mother giggle, he was on his feet in an instant. “Stop talking about me as if I weren’t here! You’re making me feel a child again!”

“Well, you’re certainly acting like one,” Narcissa pursed her lips as she looked over her son. “Just turned thirty, and still throwing tantrums?” She shook her head. “I really did you a disservice by spoiling you, didn’t I, Harry?” 

Harry saw the look of hurt on Malfoy’s face at the rebuke and was already getting up even as he patted Narcissa’s arm. “It’s been a rough few days for Draco. I can’t even begin to understand how he must be feeling. Can you imagine? Maybe it’s best we were on our way now, so we can get settled in,” He leaned to kiss her cheek and she took a moment to grip his hand tightly.

“Harry, you’re right. Thank you so much for taking care of our Draco. He’s lucky to have you,”

She embraced Potter again, and then Draco. She smoothed his hair down, and kissed his cheeks and forehead, then hugged him again. “It will be alright, my love.” She patted his cheek fondly, then stepped away.

Harry took up a handful of floo powder in one hand, and Draco’s abandoned luggage from the day before in the other, then turned to address Malfoy.

“It’s number 12 Grimmauld,”

“I know where it is, you berk.”

Harry sighed and nodded. “Alright then, see you there.” He threw the powder in the fireplace and stepped in.

Narcissa nudged Malfoy, who stared into the empty space a full two minutes. 

“Alright! I’m going then, yeah?” He snatched up the powder and threw it in, carefully biting his tongue after stating the location, because Merlin only knew where he’d end up if he’d said “12 Grimmauld, Beastly Potter’s place”. 

 

 

The minute Draco arrived into the drawing room, a large, handsome golden tabby cat leapt from it’s place on the mantle and landed on Draco’s shoulder heavily. It proceeded to purr loudly, and head butted the blond man before curling around his shoulders.

“Snitch!” Draco yelled in frustration as he froze in place, half hunched from emerging from the fireplace, afraid to move for fear of being scratched. “Get off me, you mangy cat!”

But Draco was rubbing the cat’s ears affectionately by the time Harry had crossed the room to assist.

“Did you miss Daddy?” Draco nuzzled Snitch and kissed him on the nose.

Harry was frozen in the middle of the floor, staring at them in amazement.

Malfoy glanced up and scowled. “What’re you looking at, Potter?”

The hopeful look on his face crumpled and he sighed. “The cat. You remembered the cat’s name. Snitch. You gave him to me for Christmas four years ago, but he’s always liked you more than me.”

“Has he?” Draco visibly brightened at this. “He has, hasn’t he?”

“You don’t….I mean, do you…”

“No! I don’t remember anything else!” Draco snapped before he spent a second thinking on it. But when he resumed petting Snitch, he found that he didn’t remember anything more anway. It seemed a fluke that he had remembered the cat, but it was as if that part had just always been there. 

Along with the floor plan of the Grimmauld place. Harry tried giving him a tour as if he’d never been there, but Draco couldn’t be bothered with that either. “Yes, yes, and the kitchen is on the bottom floor and the master bedroom on the third,”

“So you recall the house then too?” Harry folded his arms across his chest feeling a mixture of confusion, and irritation, and hurt. What else did Draco remember that he wasn’t letting on?

“Looks like it, yeah?”

 

Harry led Draco up the stairs to the bedroom, and the two of them stood awkwardly silent in the hallway. Harry knew what Malfoy was thinking.

“Well, with the number of bedrooms in this place, there’s no reason for us to transfigure the bed again,” Harry sighed.

Draco only looked at him.

“Well, you can have it. I’ll take the room at the end of the hall. On the left, there,” He indicated with a point of his finger. “In case you need me, for anything.”

Malfoy looked where Harry was pointing, and nodded, smirking in triumph. Then a sudden realization struck him. Harry was halfway down the hall, when he said, “Potter, wait.”

Harry turned hopefully. “Yes?”

“Look. This is your house. You should take your own bedroom. Don’t let me kick you out. I can stay down the hall. Or on one of the other floors, even…”

Harry’s jaw tightened before he responded. “This is our house, and that is our bedroom. And if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not sleep there if you won’t be there with me.” He waved his hand dismissively. “You should take it anyway. It might-“

“Jog my memory,” Draco rolled his eyes and finished Harry’s sentence for him. Harry nodded, and turned back down the hallway.


	5. Chapter 5

Draco spent as much time avoiding Potter as he could. But it was inevitable at some points. For instance, Harry kept making them meals and insisting that they eat together. He apologized for the poor quality of the food, and was adamant that Draco was the resident chef, but Draco just couldn’t imagine why either of them would bother cooking at all, when there were two house-elves at hand. And he would swing by several times throughout the day, whatever room Draco was in, and offer to bring him something. Tea, a biscuit perhaps? And had Draco had the chance to look through the photo books yet?

Malfoy was not interested in seeing more pictures of himself and Potter locking lips. The sight was alien to him and didn’t stir any emotion within other than disgust. And Potter just didn’t understand that. 

The ministry had allowed them to extend their vacation another week. Frankly, Malfoy was itching for an activity to fill his time other than wandering the house and petting the cat, and napping.

Earlier in the day Hermione had popped over for a visit. Draco made nice talk for about four minutes, and then disappeared. He was making his rounds of the place an hour later, and she was still there in the drawing room with Harry, the two of them holding onto their mugs of tea like old bitties. As Draco neared, he caught a bit of their conversation and slowed to listen.

“..and Hermione, I just don’t know what to do! He acts like he wants nothing to do with me. He’s just as awful as he was at Hogwarts, I try and try and try. I’ve been nothing but patient with him. I know it’s not his fault. He says he needs more time, but he won’t even look at the albums! He barely speaks to me, and when he does, he’s never cordial. I…just…he…I love him so much, why can’t he see that?” Harry’s face crumpled and he started to cry again. 

Hermione moved forward to embrace him, cooing “There, there,” comfortingly, when she caught a glimpse of Malfoy in the doorway. Her eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed. “He’s always been a bit of a prat, but I’m sure he’ll come around.”

Malfoy back pedaled away from the doorway and continued on down the hallway. He returned to the master bedroom, where he sat as a deep feeling of guilt washed over him. He tried to replace it with anger, it wasn’t his fault that Potter was getting so upset over the situation, what could he do about it? But he knew that he wasn’t helping any. Draco had been forced to accept their relationship and history together. And though he might never regain his memory, he owed it to the man some part of him had loved to treat him with decency, and respect.

After Granger had left, Harry came about, red-faced and puffy-eyed, asking if Draco needed anything. He forced himself to smile. 

“Are you always so accommodating, or are you going out of your way to win me over?” Merlin, that hadn’t come out the way he meant it.

Harry sighed. “Draco, I love you. I know you can’t accept that, but I do. I don’t know how else to show you, but I’m here for you. Anything you need. Day or night. I’m here,” he bookended his weary statement with another sigh.

“I-I know. Did…you say those pictures were laying around somewhere? I suppose I ought to take a gander at them.” 

 

 

The Monday morning work day came none-too-quickly for the hapless duo. Draco quickly found that Potter was as much a mess in the mornings as he ever was and it was he who had to drag the man out the door just to make it to work on time.

“Bugger, Potter, we can’t be late on our first day back!”

“Just like old times, yeah?” Harry grinned after listening to Draco’s tirade of “Flatten your hair!” And “Straighten your robes!” and “Where’s your briefcase?”

“Merlin, Potter, is this what it’s like for us? I feel like your mother!”

Normally Harry would have scowled at the mention of his mother, but when Draco spoke of the two of them as “us”, his heart swelled. He beamed at Draco, who leaned forward in the elevator and stabbed the buttons for the fourth and seventh floors with his index finger.

Harry grabbed Draco’s wrist tightly, and Malfoy stared at him.

“What is it now?”

“You punched our floors!”

Draco shrugged. “Must be habit, I guess.”

And then Francis Mortleby got on the third floor, and pumped Draco’s hand vigorously. “Malfoy! Thanks for wrapping up the Longfellow case before you went abroad, chap. I can only imagine how difficult it would be to straighten anything out now that you’ve lost your head!”

Draco clapped him on the back as they stepped off onto the fourth floor together. Harry heard him say as the doors closed, “Well actually, it wouldn’t have been too difficult at all. You see they key was…”

 

Harry sagged against the rear wall of the elevator in dismay. It seemed all the pieces of Draco’s life were falling into place except the biggest one of all. Draco hadn’t even given him a second glance, or a ‘have a good day,’ or even a ‘see you, Potter’ as he stepped off onto the appropriate floor to begin his work day, on the go already with his partner and comrade.

“Harry!” 

Harry looked up when he heard a familiar friendly voice call his name. Arthur Weasley was waiting for him when he exited the lift, and clapped him on the back.

“You look like you’ve eaten a puffer fish that just blew up in your belly! Molly and I heard the awful news, are you alright?”

 

 

Harry took lunch alone in his office that day for the first time in years. Mostly he picked bits of deli meat off the sandwich he’d made for himself, until there was a small shredded pile of ham on the desk and the two slices of bread were left bare. Then he swept the whole thing into the trash.

At the end of the day, he stopped by to collect Draco for the trek home, and was informed by Helena Horrwictz, the secretary, that he’d taken off about an hour before. He forced himself to smile and politely thank her, and held tightly to the handle of his briefcase so that he didn’t smash the damn thing repeatedly against the wall, like he wanted to.

When he got home, Malfoy wasn’t there either. Harry made a mess of the room he was staying in, throwing things around and muttering to himself: a habit he’d picked up from his very own Draco over the years. Then he stormed into the master bedroom and rifled through his closet, pulling out an old pair of running shorts and his quidditch jersey. He had to stop himself before he tore the entire house apart.

He paused to pen a note on the dining room table. He got as far as ‘Draco,’, then reconsidered, scrawling ‘Fuck Off’ in large, jagged letters. He liked the way that looked, but the rational part of him left was too afraid that the man might actually take it seriously. He crumpled the note into a tight ball and left the quill in the middle of the table before slamming out the door.

Harry ran until his chest burned and his thigh muscles were quivering. He had to pinch the stitch in his side that pained him as he walked back toward the Grimmuald place, the sweat that poured off him before now leaving him damp and chilly in the night air.

When he returned, all the lights were on. A sure sign that Draco was inside. Harry slammed the door open, kicking off his sneakers in the entry way and leaving them there. Draco was in the sitting room on the ground floor, reading, and didn’t bother looking up when Harry stormed in.

“Where were you?” Harry felt all of his anger come rushing back to him in that moment.

Malfoy looked up guiltlessly. “What do you mean, mate?”

“I came for you and you weren’t there. Where were you?”

“After work? I nicked out to the pub with Mortleby and Davenport.”

“You didn’t tell me!” Harry raged, his hands balling in to fists.

Malfoy shrugged. “I didn’t think-”

“You didn’t think.” Harry intoned. “That’s your problem, you don’t think. About anyone else but yourself.”

Draco was wrinkling his nose at Harry as he came closer. “You’re a mess.” He was talking about Potter’s physical state of being, particularly the scent emanating from him.

“Damn right, I’m a mess, and it’s your fault!” Harry reached for Draco, and yanked him up out of the chair, and then forced him back against the wall where he couldn’t get away.

Malfoy only had the chance to squeak out, “Potter!” before he was accosted by Harry’s mouth. His kiss was furious and their teeth smashed together before he stabbed his tongue inside Draco’s mouth. Harry’s hands roamed, roughly caressing his blond lover’s body, trembling with need. One hand tangled in Draco’s hair and jerked his head roughly against the wall with a low thud, and he lowered his mouth the crook of Malfoy’s neck, sucking hard.

“Fuck, Potter!” Malfoy gasped.

Harry froze, taking it as verbal protest, then wrenched himself away from Draco, who still had the book he’d been reading clenched tightly in one hand.

“I’m sorry.” He backed away, then turned abruptly. “Sorry.”

“Potter, wait!” Malfoy called after him, but Harry’s feet were already pounding up the stairs, punctuated by the slamming of his bedroom door.

 

Draco wiped his mouth and sank back into his chair, but he didn’t resume reading. He used the book to press down his erection. “Oh, Merlin.” If that was the kind of passion Potter was hiding, maybe he could understand a bit of what he’d seen in the man all these years. Malfoy spent the remainder of the evening trying to rationalize with himself that his body’s reaction was merely that of habit, or more probably due his period of abstinence. But he couldn’t argue that Potter had gotten a rise out of him, and this time it was physical.


	6. Chapter 6

Potter!" Malfoy called up the stairway the moment he got home. He'd felt bad about the previous day's indescretion, and waited for Harry when his shift was over. The only problem was, that Harry never came. So he traipsed all the way up to the 7th floor, only to find that Potter had taken a half day, claiming sickness in the afternoon. Well, Draco couldn't say that he wasn't irritated. Frankly, he could care less if Potty had decided to take a half-day, for whatever reason, but it seemed so petty that he would lash out like this the day after he'd mistakenly forgotten to tell Harry his whereabouts after work. 

There was no response, and Draco was halfway up the staircase when he heard a loud "thunk". He soon discovered the noise was made when Harry had fallen sideways off of a stack of books that he had erected to sit on in front of the pensieve in the master bedroom. Harry was sitting there, eyes glassy and heavy lidded; his hand wrapped around a bottle of firewhiskey drained nearly halfway.

"Fuck, Potter," Malfoy swore as he neared. "Is that the fourteen year old bottle of Spiderbait I was saving?"

"For a special occasion," Harry replied with a dark smile before taking another swig dirrectly from the bottle. Then he pushed himself to his knees, and using the wall for support, to his feet. He struggled with his wand, but managed to pull another webby tendril from his temple, which he placed directly into the still waters of the pensieve. His face was nearly in the basin when the doorbell rang. "Get the door," he murmered.

Draco grabbed him by the arm, afraid the imbecile was going to drown himself somehow while he was gone. "Kreacher can get it,"

"Get the bloody door!" Harry shrieked, pulling out of Malfoy's grasp and sticking his face into the penseive.

"Budge over," Malfoy nudged him, trying to fit his face in to see what was so important.  
Harry flailed awkwardly and tried to shove him away. This action resulted in a tussle, which ended with the pensieve being knocked over onto the floor.

At the same moment, Kreacher appeared, apparently proud to present a Mister Severous Snape. Harry groaned from the floor, and Draco straightened, looking rather unkempt now that he was wet.

"Well, yes, now. I do see what Narcissa was talking about," Snape frowned and crossed his arms. "Mister Potter, I'll admit that I am not surprised by your state of...dishevelment,"

"Snape!" Harry huffed. "What in Merlin's name do you want?"

Severus quirked a salt-and-peppered eyebrow and indicated with a shallow nod toward Malfoy. "Your mother has notified me of your...condition, and wanted me to see if there were any potions that might help you. However, I would like to make an initial assessment before I waste my time in the laboratory. I trust the sitting room is still as it was?" 

Draco took one final glance at Harry, who was beginning to nod off on the floor, and nodded. He stepped up to Severus and indicated the hallway with one hand. "Please, if you know the way..."

 

After several minutes of idle chatter, Severus finally stopped beating around the bush and got to the point.  
"...so what I need to know, Draco, is if you really want your memory back. From the display I've just seen, it is entirely possible that you may want to use this as an escape route to...get on with your life? Do something better? After all, we all know your talents far exceed the limitations of the ministry," Snape's lip quirked at one corner. "I never did understand your infatuation with mister Potter in the first place..."

Draco smiled slowly. "I think you may be on to something,"

"As I thought," Snape began to stand, reaching for bag he'd brought with him.

"Out of curiosity," Malfoy said, reclining in his chair. "Is there a simple concoction that will bring everything back?"

"Simple?" Severus shook his head. "Certainly not. Although there are possibilities, they only work for people who have a genuine interest in regaining what they've lost. In your case, it's not worth my time or effort creating them..."

"Good to know," Draco said, letting the front feet of his chair meet the floor with a bang. He stood then, clapping Snape on the shoulder. "Care to stay for dinner, Severus?"

"No, but I will let you pour me a drink before I go...I'd like to propose a toast...to your imminent, Harry-Potter-Free future."  
Malfoy smirked. "Certainly."

 

Each time Draco looked at Potters horrible face with those huge, depressing puppy-dog eyes, he lost his gumption to tell the man things were over between them, permanently. He just got a deep, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, that refused to go away whenever Harry was around. He supposed it was guilt, because it couldn't possibly be that he had food poisoning for a week, and only when Potter was in the room. After all, he got it even when he brought home take out three days in a row just so that he wouldn't have to force down another round of soggy sandwiches or undercooked pasta. So, he'd taken to spending most of his nights away from Grimmauld place, at the bar....

 

After spending an evening with the Weasley family, sans Malfoy, Harry was feeling a little bit better about himself. He confessed his feelings over the most recent deliemma, i.e. a seemingly heartless Draco, and Hermione was the first to pipe up, saying:  
"Since when does Harry Potter give up so easily?"

And she was 100% right.

Ron, on the other hand, was feeling much more skeptical. "I don't trust that guy as far as I can throw him...." his nostrils flared at the thought. It was during this visit that Ron concocted a secret plan of his own...

 

Ron had kept his eye on Malfoy all evening. He was in the Hogs Head relaxing after a long day or auror work, when Draco arrived and took a seat at the bar. Ron watched Malfoy as he made eyes with another bloke across the room. Draco managed to consume three pints of muggle beer before the tall blond man across the room gathered the courage to approach. When he did, the two of them seemed to hit it off and Draco laughed at his jokes the way he used to at Harry’s. 

Ron frowned and crossed his arms, waving away the waitress when she neared with a refill on his own pint. After another hour, and more rounds of beer, the handsome blond Draco had been sitting increasingly nearer to all evening gestured toward the restroom in the back, then toward the front door. Ron guessed by the look on Draco’s face he’d just been propositioned, and accepted. He stood to pay the bill when the man headed for the loo, and Ron found he couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

He approached Malfoy rapidly, and took a tight hold of the man’s upper arm, pulling him around to face him. 

Malfoy looked surprised to see him. “Weasel!” His voice was thick from the drink, and laced with a bitter tone.

“Listen here, Malfoy.” Ron said through clenched teeth. “Let’s get something straight. I’ve never liked you. I’ve tolerated you for all these years, because Harry loves you, and he’s my best mate. He’s madly in love with you, and I have never once thought you were good enough for him. Do you hear me? He’s a better person than you.”

Malfoy blinked and tried to jerk his arm away but didn’t argue.

“He’s been nothing but good to you, and this is how you repay him? Go home, Malfoy. Go home to your boyfriend if you’re looking for a lay. To your boyfriend that loves you. You’re breaking his fucking heart!”

Draco managed to wrench away from Ron’s grip and was glaring at him with malice as he rubbed the pain away, then straightened his clothes. “What do you know about it, Weasley?”

“I know that if I ever catch you out having drinks without Harry again, I’m going to rearrange your face to one more befitting a lying, cheating, snake!” At that, he jammed his wand forward against the tip of Draco’s nose. 

Draco swatted it away and balled his fist, just as the bar tender leaned between them. “Is there a problem?” He was as big as Hagrid, and just as intimidating. Both men backed away from one another, shaking their heads.

“Go home, Malfoy.” Ron repeated for the last time, and was rewarded with a resounding crack that stirred up dust in its wake. Draco was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

Dealing with The Weasel wasn't worth the trouble. Draco apparated back to the Grimmauld Place before the situation escalated, and he had to explain why he was returning home with a black eye, or worse. Unfortunately, due to his inebriated state, he managed to apparate himself into a potted houseplant in the darkened hallway of the third floor; rather than directly into the master bedroom as he'd planned. He arrived with the obligatory crack, and it was promptly followed by his cry of outrage, rustling leaves, and a double thud as he kicked the plant over, then tripped and landed on the floor.

Draco picked himself up and dusted himself off, then righted the tree, ignoring the pile of soil on the hallway runner. The whole time he was grousing silently about the way Weasley had managed to foil a good time he'd arranged. He was still achingly hard- his libido was roaring, and he was going to end up spending another night tossing off because Potter's meddling friends couldn't mind their p's and q's. Potter who was supposedly dying of a broken heart. Potter, who'd nearly climbed into his pants the other night, then gone cold and left him to his own devices. Potter! Malfoy grinned to himself and reached for the doorknob infront of him. He didn't know why he hadn't considered it before. Here was a vessel, ready and waiting for him, anxious to fulfil his every desire. Draco suddenly had all intentions of taking full advantage of the situation. 

Harry couldn't help but overhear Draco's noisy entrance from the bedroom he occupied. It was the third night this week that Draco had returned home late, making a ruckus, and he was growing to anticipate this moment of the evening. He did not, however, anticipate what came next. His bedroom door cracked open and Draco slunk inside, shutting the door quietly. The room was pitch black, but he could hear the sounds of Malfoy shedding his clothes, and the stench of ale was overpowering. Harry held his breath and waited, his mind racing. Should he call attention to himself so that Draco would realize he'd come to the wrong place, or should he just budge over and relish in the feeling of a warm, breathing body next to his, for however long it lasted?

After a moment, he realized that Malfoy was muttering something to himself, and when he craned his ear outward, he could barely make out the words. It sounded like a mantra of "Just this once, just this once...", as though he were trying to convince himself of it, or maybe just give permission. Could it be that Draco had sought him out on purpose? 

Harry felt the mattress shift as Malfoy put a hesitant knee on it.   
"Potter…" Malfoy’s voice was only a whisper, but that soft tone held such lofty promises.  
Harry's breath exploded from him and before he knew what was happening, he’d reached up, took a firm hold up Draco’s upper arm, and tumbled the man down beside him. Draco’s wet lips first awkwardly found his cheek, then the curve of his chin, and finally, his mouth. Harry couldn’t help but groan into the kiss, his hands tightening possessively across the small of Malfoy’s back. 

“Merlin, Draco,” Harry whispered when he was finally able to tear himself away, echoes of sour ale now on his own tongue. “You’re drunk!”

“And horny,” Malfoy frotted against Harry. “Don’t forget horny.”

“God, yes. I can see that,” Harry whispered painfully. His own erection was trapped against his leg, and the crotch-seam of his flannel pajama bottoms was pulled taut against his scrotum, dividing his bollocks. 

“You want me,” Draco said, matter-of-factly as he palmed Harry’s cock, his thumb easily finding the groove of fabric creating a shallow valley between the Gryffindor’s legs. He toyed with it until Harry was writhing below him. “Get your bloody pants off or I’ll tear them off,” Draco growled.

Harry wasted no time in complying.

When they were both naked, there was a brief roll about on the mattress with a tangle of limbs and a duo of hungry, sucking mouths. Harry reveled in the feel of Draco’s hot, velvety smooth cock in his hands, and the feeling of his own prick slipping against the silky flesh of Malfoy’s abdomen.

“Want.” Draco groaned against Harry’s neck, grinding their hips together. “Need.” When Potter failed to move quickly enough to satisfy him, Draco shoved his knees apart, and barked “Now!”

That got his attention. Harry reached for the lube and slicked them both, trying to fend Draco off with one hand while slipping two fingers inside himself in preparation.

“Fuck Potter, if I wanted to watch you diddle yourself…” Malfoy groused, impatiently lining himself up and bumping Harry’s fingers as if he was considering trying to stuff himself into Potter’s arse along with them.

Harry’s irritation with Draco was mounting. In the heat of the moment, he’d forgotten that in Malfoy’s mind, they’d never fucked, never made love, and that Draco was still trapped in the sexually parsimonious, inexperienced mindset from twelve years previous. “Give me a goddamned minute, you selfish prat!” he snapped.

Malfoy was blessedly silent for nearly sixty whole seconds before he implored, “Potter! You’re driving me to wank!”

Harry couldn’t help but grin, and with drew his fingers, only to replace them with Draco’s eager prick. “Come on then, you randy bugger,” he grunted, lifting his hips to accommodate his lover.

“Fuck. Yes.” Draco was nearly purring as he rocked his hips. “Potter, you’re going to love this…”

He wasn’t wrong. Harry stifled his lusty cries by sucking wide red marks on every inch of Draco’s flesh that was in the vicinity of his mouth as Malfoy busied himself between Harry’s legs.

“Put your hand on my cock,” Harry begged, dragging Draco’s right hand off his outer thigh and into place. He gasped as Malfoy’s fingers clenched him tightly, then gave a few callous strokes, before falling into a familiar rhythm. Whether he was aware of it or not, Draco’s practiced hand was coaxing Harry toward climax with none of the awkwardness of a boy’s first time. Because it wasn’t, really.

“Oh, Merlin’s shoes! Draco, yes, yesssss!” Harry came hard, shooting thick, ropy ejaculate onto his own chest. 

 

Malfoy’s ever-characteristic loss of eloquence as he neared orgasm was predictable at best. “Fuck, fuck! Ohhhhh, fuuuuuck!”

Malfoy pumped into him a few more times before the rhythmic clenching of Potter’s muscular walls milked him to completion.

“Sweet Salazar!” Draco breathed, dropping down beside Harry, and raking his fingers through his own damp hair. “That wasn’t half bad, Potter!”

“So you said, the first time!” Harry smirked to himself. Draco was puzzled in the dark. This was their first time...and in his confusion, he allowed Harry to pull him against his chest and cuddle him. The warmth between the two of them was pleasant enough, and soon, despite his intentions, Draco slipped into the easy sleep of post-coital bliss. Harry staved it off as long as he could, enjoying the feel of Draco cradled in his arms for the first time in over a month. He knew this wouldn’t last, and despite his hopes and wishes, Malfoy would most likely wake up the same prat he’d fallen asleep as…

 

"You're breaking his fucking heart." Draco awoke, scowling with those very words on the tip of his tongue. His arm was propped over a pillow and he was otherwise snuggled under the warm sheets. As he mulled the sentence over, the night's previous course came rushing back. Malfoy swore, sitting straight up in bed; Harry's bed, only to find himself blissfully alone. He collapsed with relief against the pillows, and laid there, inhaling Potter's musk and and the scent of their indescretions for several more minutes before he got up, showered, and readied himself for work. 

As he came down the stairs, he realized that, for a work-morning, the house was exceptionally quiet. Potter was usually bumbling and rushing about with frantic exclamations about the time and his own disorganization...There was a note on the dining room table saying that he'd left for work early. Well, what do you know? The prat did have some consideration in him after all. He'd also left a cup of coffee with extra cream and sugar, exactly the way Draco liked it. It was still piping hot, most-likely due to an ever-warm spell. Draco smiled to himself and took a large swallow. This most recent sexcapade was all the convenience of a one-night-stand, with the added bonus of a caring partner, minus the annoying fluffy interactions of a relationship…He could get used to this....now, if only he could rid himself of that nagging sense of guilt.


	8. Chapter 8

It had been hard for Harry to fall asleep after his romp with Malfoy. Part of him felt guilty for taking advantage of his drunkenness, knowing that Draco would likely regret his actions in the morning. Another part of him could care less that he’d had sex with his own boyfriend of ten years, but didn’t want to put up with the resulting funk it might put Malfoy in to wake up beside Harry. The last part of him was still befuddled that this was happening in the first place: that he had been replaced in Draco’s brain by a big, black scribble-mark. What could possibly allow his long-term lover to remember every detail of their lives together, except the together part?

Eventually, he stole out of bed, leaving Draco, a notoriously heavy sleeper, snoring softly. He made himself a pot of coffee and wandered aimlessly around the first floor of the house for more than an hour. Harry had been ready to dump the last cup down the drain, then on a whim, fixed it for Draco instead, and scrawled him a note about his whereabouts. 

The way Harry saw it, he had two options: He could accept things as they were, and let Draco slip away from him, or he could buckle down and pursue the man…suddenly, he had an idea: it wasn’t brilliant or unique, but it was all he had. Harry snuck out of the house when the sky was still that hazy shade of purpley-grey before sunrise. He was waiting outside of Lovegood’s Confectionery before the door was even unlocked.

Luna greeted him with a smile and held the door open for him. “Harry! How marvelous it is to see you!”

They chatted briefly to catch up. It had been over a year since Harry had seen Luna last, but they fell into the same easy, if not slightly bizarre camaraderie. Finally, Harry fell silent, and began examining the sweets for sale. Luna followed along behind the counter, adding the beautifully decadent handmade sweets into a box, always when Harry was just about to indicate that he’d like some of a particular flavor. She had an uncanny way of knowing things, and Harry had learned to accept that about her sometime ago, though it always made Draco, and even Hermione a little uncomfortable.

When there were twenty assorted candies and truffles in the black box, Luna tied it up with a silver and green bow and handed it across the counter to Harry with a knowing grin. “Girls do love to be wooed, Harry.”

He blushed and nodded. “Yes. Well, this is for Malfoy. Er- Draco.” Merlin! He was even beginning to think of the prat as the Malfoy of old, and not his loving, if not demanding partner Draco.

She smiled dreamily in return. “As I said. That’ll be two galleons, four sickles, and a knut.”

 

When Harry got to the ministry, he was one of the only people there. It had been easy for him to stop off on the fourth floor. He navigated his way to Draco’s office, and even got the secretary to unlock it for him.

“I’m such a sucker for romance!” She batted her eyelashes at Harry while he arranged the package of sweets on Draco’s desk. The final touch was tucking a vial containing the silvery memory of their real first romp into the ribbon. Let Draco put that in his pensieve and see how he felt then! Harry only wished he could be there to see Malfoy’s reaction to the gift. 

 

 

“Oh, Potter, you lovesick fool,” Malfoy sighed on seeing the package. He settled down into his chair and picked up the box, examining it from all angles. Rolling his eyes, he plucked up the phial, and held the contents to the light, as if he would be able to discern the memory in the same manner one would guess the diagnosis on a muggle x-ray. Draco pocketed it, thinking that if it was a recap of last night’s alcohol induced indiscretion, it might be best to view at the end of the day, so as not to preclude his lunch, or cause him to lose it if he watched afterward. He noted to himself the classy presentation, which meant for certain that Potter had not wrapped it himself. Malfoy started to put the package on the corner of his desk, then changed his mind. A gift is a gift is a gift, and it doesn’t matter who bequeathed it to you…

He pulled off the ribbon, leaving it dangling over the edge of the trashcan like a length of green and silver entrails, then lifted the top off the mysterious black box. The scent hit him first before his eyes could register the decadent treats within. Draco took a deep breath, then sighed.

“Oh, yum.” His eyes glittered over the confections and his finger hovered as he tried to decide which one to try first. So, Potter had decided to indulge his sweet tooth, had he? A wise man, indeed, if he was trying to get on his good side.

“Ooooh! There!” In all his years, his left index finger had never failed in pointing out “the pumpkin one”. And it didn’t fail him today. Pumpkin crème, covered in dark chocolate. Today was shaping up already to be better than he imagined.

 

 

“Helena?” Draco wheeled back on his chair and craned his face past the doorjamb, looking for her eager, wide-eyed face to appear. 

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy?”

“Send Potter an inter office memo- let him know I’m staying late for…” he tapped his quill against the side of his face before finishing. “Work and business, yeah?”

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy, right away, sir.”

 

 

Draco waited until most of his coworkers had left the floor on their way home, before he shut the door and locked it. Then he crossed to the penseive he kept in his office, purely for interrogative purposes, of course, and eyed it intently. He took one final precautionary glance over his shoulder before fishing the phial out of his pocket. He uncapped it and upended it over the basin in one fluid motion. “Here goes nothing,” he murmured to himself in preparation for the wonderful world of Harry Potter. 

 

 

Potter was sitting alone at a table for two in the nightclub, Wands and Wings. He was nursing a drink and looking out over the dance floor. 

Present-day Draco looked around the place, and remembered it well. It had been a hang-out of his for a short time after he graduated…perhaps longer, but he didn’t remember. The edges of the scene were fuzzy, because he could only see what was in Harry’s peripheral vision. 

Then, he watched as his younger self approached Harry, put his left hand on the brown-haired boy’s right shoulder, and his right hand on the table beside Potter’s drink.

“Funny…I don’t recall inviting you to my birthday celebration. What are you doing here, Potter?” His voice was low and evenly coated with annoyance.

Harry looked up with a smug smile. “Funny, no-one mentioned you owned the place… Anyway, I didn’t know it was your birthday. Let me buy you a drink.,” Harry caught the attention of a passing waiter. “Firewhiskey on ice. Two. Make them doubles.”

Younger Draco sneered and rolled his eyes. “What makes you think I want to have a drink with you, Potter?”

Harry shrugged. “It’ll be awhile before they come round with the drinks. If you’re here, it’s yours. If not, I’ll drink it myself.”

“Fair enough.” Malfoy patted Harry’s arm with less malice, and strode away.

 

Draco accelerated through the boring part of the memory, the waiter bringing the drinks, and Potter setting them aside. He scoffed. What a noble Gryffindor. But then, he slowed to normal pace to watch as his younger self returned.

Malfoy settled his empty tumbler on the table and dropped into a chair across from Harry. “You saved my drink, I see.”

“I wasn’t in any hurry,” Harry tossed back the contents of his current drink, then took one of the doubles, nudging the other toward Draco. “To health, wealth, and happiness. Cheers, mate.”

Draco lifted his eyebrow at the squirrely toast, then shrugged and good-naturedly clinked their glasses together before taking a sip.

“Well, it’s been a pleasure, Potter.” Draco got back on his feet and lifted his glass again in wordless thanks.

Despite himself, Harry looked amused. He nodded and lifted his own drink before slipping down in his seat and putting his feet up on the chair Draco’s bum had just occupied. Then he drank deeply from his glass again, crunching a cube of ice between his teeth.

There was a long period where modern-Draco watched Harry watching his younger self, out on the dance floor, laughing and grinding with his friends. Younger Draco caught him watching several times, and grinned. Then, Harry got up and took himself to the bathroom.

 

Oh, Merlin, what is the point of this?! Malfoy wondered to himself, watching the scene. If this wasn’t the most mundane memory…

 

Draco sidled up to the urinal beside Harry, even though the loo was empty save the two of them. From the redness of his face and the glassy look in his eyes, it was easy to tell he was drunk. He leant forward, checking out Potter’s junk. Modern-day Draco couldn’t tell if he’d meant to be obvious, or if he only thought he was doing so on the sly. Mentally, he face-palmed himself.

“Potter,” he said as Harry zipped up and turned away, either oblivious to the fact that he’d just been checked out, or not caring.

Harry looked across at him from the sink, more sober because he hadn’t the liberty of free drinks all night.

“Potter,” Malfoy said again. “You haven’t told me ‘Happy Birthday’, yet.”

Harry was drying his hands, and looked suddenly amused again. “Happy Birthday, Malfoy. See you ‘round!” At that, he tried to duck past Malfoy and out the door, but the blond boy turned, wiping his hands on his slacks.

“Potter, wait!”

Harry was out the door and down the hall by the time Malfoy caught up to him. He took Potter by the elbow and whirled him around. They eyed one another, and Malfoy bit his lip. “I never did say ‘Thank you’, for the drink.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry said, smiling down at Malfoy’s massaging hand on his upper arm.

“I saw you watching me tonight,”

“Oh?”

“Like what you see?”

Harry only smiled. 

“You still with Finnegan?”

Harry quirked a brow. “Never was, for anything more than a good time, if that’s what you mean…”

Then Malfoy launched himself and their bodies collided.

“Fuck, Malfoy, you’re drunk.”

“And horny, don’t forget horny.”

 

Merlin, if that didn’t sound familiar. Draco watched as the two of them fumbled their way down the hallway, Harry trying to stave off Malfoy’s groping hands until they slipped inside a broom closet. Malfoy told himself he wasn't interested in watching, but then he found himself squeezing into the dim closet anyway.

 

The two boys snogged each other viciously while Malfoy made it his personal mission to divest them both of clothes. He pushed Harry roughly against one wall and covered his body with his own.

“Potter, let me fuck you!”

Harry groaned his assent and lifted one leg up over Malfoy’s hip almost immediately.

Draco mumbled the lubing incantation, and then they were clumsily fucking in the dark, crowded broom closet.

 

Draco hoped that they didn’t think they were being quiet. He wondered if they didn’t care. His own hands were clutched, tightly now, on the rim of the pensieve, and his dick was hard in his pants.

 

When the boys were done, Draco pulled out with a smirk. “Sweet Salazar!” He exclaimed. “Potter, that wasn’t half-bad!”

Harry grinned, and they began fumbling for their clothes. When Draco was certain that he was properly dressed, and they had cleaned all traces of their romp from their clothes, Draco put his hand on the door knob. 

“Happy Birthday, Malfoy,” Harry said, flushing, as if he were embarrassed to realize what he’d just done.

“Indeed,” Draco smiled darkly, then stepped out of the closet.

 

Malfoy lifted his head from the pensieve, stunned. It appeared that fate would only bring them together, drunkenly, when his own inhibitions were lowered. Potter, it seemed, was game for anything. He wandered back to his desk, plucking out a triple-chocolate truffle and popping it in his mouth with one hand, the other trying to press his erection into a state of obedience so that no one would think him a pervert on his way home from work. He pulled on his jacket, and adjusted his pants. Damn Potter for being such an agreeable, friendly little oaf. Damn him for chocolates, and his pornographic memory. Damn him!


	9. Chapter 9

Nearly a week ago, Harry had given him chocolates, and a memory. Today, it had been a bouquet of strange red and white flowers clustered along the length of slender stem, and another phial. The flowers held a card that read: “To my Snapdragon, with all my love. ~P”. The flowers held no magical property that Draco could discern, although they smelled alright and looked nice on one corner of his desk. The phial, this time, he took home to view.

 

Potter was standing in the middle of the ministry hallway, perusing through several sheets of paper in a folder he was holding. A few people already had to twist their bodies past him, but he seemed oblivious. Malfoy put an extra swagger in his step as he jaunted past.

“Morning, Potter.” He grinned lasciviously.

A subtle flush crept up Harry’s neck and into his cheeks. “Malfoy,” he said with a perfunctory nod.

Malfoy was several paces down the hallway when he decided to return to Harry’s side. “I’d like to buy you a drink after work, some-night this week…doesn’t matter which, really.”

At this, Harry’s eyebrows shot nearly into his hairline, and he fumbled with his file.

“Payback, for the drink you bought me,” Draco’s smile was wide, and steeped of mal-intent. 

There was a pause before Harry could collect the words for a response. “That’s…really not…necessary…and probably…not a…g-good idea.” His face was very, very red now, but it was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

"Surely you're not considering denying me the opportunity for reciprocation?" He quirked his eyebrow and one corner of his mouth twitched up, indicating he was fully amused by the double entendre that he'd presented.

"Well...." Harry drawled in response, looking dubious.

"Poor form, Potter! That's just bad manners!"

"Alright, alright, Thursday, then." He finally agreed in a grumbling manner.

"Fantastic." Draco grinned and strode away, pausing, then turning mid-step once more. "And Potter? Try to wear something nice for a change..."

 

 

The memory flashed ahead to a restaurant, rather posh.

 

The two of them were sitting alone at a table in the corner, dressed much alike in black blazers and slacks. Draco’s shirt was black, whereas Harry’s was a shade of green that quite matched his eyes.

“I’m surprised,” Malfoy said with his fork hovering in air, “That you accepted my offer in the first place.”

“Well, to be honest with you Malfoy,” Harry said. “You didn’t give me much of a choice…and I thought we were going to the bar.” He looked at his surroundings and it was clear that he was uncomfortable in the setting.

Malfoy smirked. “Ye olde wine and dine, Potter. Ever heard of it?”

“Who-a-what?”

“Never mind,” Draco reached for his drink, and indicated Harry’s beverage with the same hand, careful not to splash a drop. “You’ve got your drink, and a free meal to boot. Nice one, at that. What are you complaining about?”

Harry offered a nervous smile and ran his finger under his collar as if it were buttoned too tightly.

“Who dressed you, anyway?”

“I dressed myself, thank you very much!” Harry said rather indignantly.

Malfoy laughed and almost spit on himself. He had to reach for his linen quickly, and blotted his mouth. “Couldn’t get anything done with that hair though, yeah?” His eyes glinted humorously.

Harry’s hand reached to flatten the portion in the back that he knew was sticking up. Then he smiled, and said more boldly than perhaps even he expected: “Well, later when you’ve got your hands in it, maybe you can fix it for me.”

Draco’s face split in a fierce grin. The jig was up. Potter was no fool, at least not when it came to one-offs. “Maybe.”

 

The memory surged forward again, and by this time, Draco was clutching the pensieve in the master bedroom. When the scene blossomed, he recognized the room as the one he was currently in, albeit the décor was much more shabby and bachelor-esque. They had ended up back at Potter’s place after dinner? His cock was already half hard with anticipation. 

 

 

Draco had Harry against the wall and was practically climbing his torso; pale fingers in dark hair, bodies stripped to the waist and rubbing on one another.

“Oy!” Harry breathed, his fingers tightening around Malfoy’s slim waist as the boy bit down on his earlobe a bit too hard.

Harry staggered back from the wall, half supporting Draco’s weight. He turned them, and with a hard shove, the blond was bouncing off the mattress. Harry’s pants were down around his ankles in a second, and he stepped out of them rather predatorily before he turned his hands to aid Malfoy in removing his own.

 

“More!” Draco groaned, riding Harry’s two lubed forefingers. Harry pushed in a third and looked amused when Draco’s hips came right up off the mattress. “Ungh! Yeah! Fuck me, Potter. Fuck me! Salazar, I never thought I’d say that!”

“Me neither,” Harry grinned as he came to his knees, lining his prick up with Draco’s slick entrance and fed the head of his cock in with a gasp. “Oh Merlin, you’re tight.”

Draco arched his back and tried to shimmy his hips up to take in more of Harry. “Oh, give it to me hard already!”

Harry ignored him, slipping in just a bit before sliding out. When he pushed in again, he went only a little deeper than before. He continued in this fashion until he was balls-deep, then withdrew almost completely, before going in slowly again. And again.

Draco was writhing on the mattress, fisting the sheets. “Come on with it already, you tease!”

Harry looked like it was taking immense concentration not to lose his load right then and there. He kept up his slow and deliberate pace, changing the angle of his hips until he elicited a squeal from Malfoy. Then he looked pleased with himself.

Malfoy’s fingers clutched at his hips and tried to coax them into a frenzied motion. “Harder. Faster. More!” He panted, and tried again to pull Harry into him.

Then Harry did something that surprised them both. He mumbled an incantation, a modified form of “Incarcerous” that caused ropes to snake down from the headboards and take firm hold of Draco’s wrists, pulling them above his head. Harry paused, looking suddenly worried, biting one lip.

Malfoy flexed his body and tested the bonds. “Fuck, Potter. Fuck, you’re filthy.” Then he groaned and rocked his hips again. “I am so hard it hurts. Fuck me. Touch me. Something. Move!”

At this, Harry was inspired again. He wrapped one hand around Draco’s pulsing cock and stroked it slowly to the rhythm of his own thrusts. Malfoy kept pulling against the ropes and urging Harry to speed things up. Harry didn’t cave to the pressure, however, and soon enough, Malfoy’s body was pulled so taut that it wasn’t even touching the mattress. His declarations had become a wordless string of grunts and groans that turned into an insistent hum. Then he nearly seized, his legs drawing up then kicking out, pushing against the sheets. Gasping, he splattered himself with come, which Harry then smeared deliberately with one hand. When Malfoy finally relaxed against the sheets, Harry finally gave in and thrust hard and fast several times. Then he began shuddering and his body went rigid.

When he had finished, he rested his weight atop Draco a long moment, then carefully withdrew and slipped to his side.

“Oh, God. Harry,”Draco purred and tilted his head against the other’s.

 

 

Draco pulled his face from the pensieve. Merlin be damned. He had to unbutton his slacks to adjust himself. Once his cock was in hand, he found he needed release. Malfoy let his slacks fall about his ankles and he turned himself onto the mattress. His hand started into the natural rhythm of his self abuse, but then, recalling Potter’s memory, deliberately slowed his strokes.

“Ah, fuck yeah,” He groaned softly, then bit his lip. It wouldn’t do to be screaming obscenities while he wanked to the thought of Potter fucking him. He could only keep the pace for so long before his need over-took him. He beat himself furiously for the last minute or so, grinding his teeth together to keep himself from crying out. Then he sat up guiltily, and stripped off his newly stained shirt, balling it and throwing it in the corner after wiping most of the sticky spunk from his hand.

He had just come from the loo, and had yanked open the bedroom door with intentions of taking himself to the sitting room. He was startled to find Harry standing there, his hand raised as if he were just about to knock. Draco turned a bright shade of red as Harry stammered, “I was just coming to see if you wanted any supper…”


	10. Chapter 10

It was a good thing that Draco kept a calendar of events handy, and perused it often, otherwise he might have forgotten that he had a standing appointment with Pansy at noon on Saturday. Unfortunately, he hadn’t written the location of their rendezvous, but it seemed that Potter was aware of it as well.

“Still going to see Pansy tomorrow?” He asked over a terribly soggy fish and chips at dinner.

“Why, of course I am. What kind of friend do you take me for?”

“Remember,” Harry said, and Draco was beginning to loathe that word. “She just moved to that cottage over near your mums, on Gardner. We still haven’t sent a housewarming gift yet.

“And you find it appropriate to tell me this the sixteen hours before I’m supposed to arrive? That’s mighty kind of you, Potter…” Draco snapped in irritation.

Harry looked one part sheepish, and one part smug. He shrugged. “You’re the one prancing around with the fantastic recollection of all bits of your life, except…” suddenly he trailed off and looked sad.

“Except what, you useless oaf?” Consuming terrible food while having to look at someone he wasn’t fond of had rubbed him the wrong way, and he wasn’t afraid to let on that he was upset.

“Except the bits with me in them!” Harry yelled as he stood up. 

“What does Pansy have to do with you, Potter?” Malfoy looked thoroughly confused.

“Ask her yourself!”

 

 

Malfoy was standing in front of a quaint little cottage with green shutters, ringing the bell and hoping that Potter hadn’t misguided him. After all, he did fail to mention that the floo was not in working order, which resulted in him being misdirected into some poor old witches fireplace while she was having her noon tea.

He had the gift-wrapped beautifully by himself- tucked under his right arm, and had the same shoulder propped against the doorframe so that he might examine the fingernails of his opposite hand, to be absolutely certain that no blackened floo powder was trapped there and contributing to an ungainly presentation. The door finally opened, and he straightened with a smile, then frowned.

“Well good god damn, Parkinson, you’ve put on a good deal of weight, haven’t you?”

“It’s ‘Zabini’ now, and I’m seven and a half months pregnant, you ignorant twat!” She shrilled at him.

The door widened and Blaise was there, wrapping one arm around her shoulder and stuffing a script of parchment under her nose. “Calm down dear. We just finished reading Harry’s owl and you know he can’t help it.” He moved her bulk out of the entry way so that Draco could come inside. The moment his foot crossed the threshold into the small kitchen, there was a maniacal scream of “Uncle Draco!” followed by a short patter of feet, and then a frizzy-haired four year old launched themselves at the blond. 

He pulled up short with a look of horror mingle with confusion. 

Blaise was laughing at him, even as he crossed to the table, where he was tending to two more dark haired children of the same age, in the throes of messy toddler-hood eating.

“Oh, sweet Salazar, you’ve spawned,” Draco squeaked out from where he was rooted to the floor, mainly because there was a small child wrapped around his legs and talking animatedly.

“Is this for me? Is it a present for my birthday?” The kid was trying to pull the box from Malfoy’s hand. 

Suddenly he snapped back to reality and jerked it away, holding it out of reach. “No, it’s not. Zabini, Pansy, somebody help me!” He was about ten seconds away from kicking the child like an annoying puppy, but thankfully it didn’t come to that. 

Pansy returned and with a gentle hand, pried the child away. “Brice, your birthday isn’t even for another four months! Besides, it’s for mummy, isn’t that nice of Uncle Draco to bring us a gift?” 

Malfoy relinquished the present to her then took a seat at the far end of the table from Blaise and the messy children, while she stacked the unopened gift atop a pile of undone laundry. To his dismay, Pansy lifted Brice into his lap and tucked Draco’s arm around his shoulders.

“He’ll bug you less if you pay a little attention to him,” she said with a firm smile, and pulled up the chair next to him, doing a strange little contortion of arching her back and reaching for the seat behind her, then scooting her feet forward. Finally, she settled into place and sighed. “After this one’s weaned,” she patted her belly. “I’ll be ready to bake your little bun in my oven, I promise.”

Draco’s eyes grew large and round. “What?!” He said incredulously.

“He doesn’t remember,” Blaise reminded gently.

“Well, you and Harry, of course!” She grinned broadly. “You decided a few years ago that you wanted children of your own-Merlin knows how important it is to your family to have an heir, Malfoy.” She reached out and fussed distractedly at the squirming child in Draco’s lap. “Dear one, don’t do that, you’re mussing Uncle Draco’s clothes.”

Draco couldn’t even bring himself to look down and see what was happening to his shirt. He could only imagine, sticky fingers and a slobbery mouth. He’d have to throw the shirt away, maybe burn it…

“Anyway, since I get pregnant at the drop of a hat, and I actually care about your happiness, Blaise and I decided the three months of morning sickness and the labor pains were worth it to help you out,”

“Oh, Merlin.” Draco palmed his face and rubbed it fiercely, ignoring the bouncing bundle of energy occupying prime real estate on his thigh, and singing, “Is Uncle Draco crying?” to the tune of Frere Jacques. “You mean to tell me, “ He raised his voice over the din, “That I actually had intentions of raising a family with that…that….with him?”

Pansy looked shocked. “What are you talking about? Draco, you’re in love with him. You have been since the first day you worked together at the ministry. Of course, we all thought you were off your face, because those days, frankly, you were a lot of the time. But seriously. You’ve been the driving force behind the two of you. You know how I feel about the whole thing, I never could tell if Harry cared for you as much as you loved him, or if he was just along for the ride. But seeing as how this has been going on since…what, September?” She turned her eyes to Blaise for a moment.

“That’s what the letter says, yeah?” When he nodded, she continued. “I think it’s fair to say that if he hasn’t dropped you off at your mums with bags packed by now, it’s safe to assume he loves you just as much.”

“Have you got a mint? I’m starting to feel a bit peaky,” Malfoy said, finally curling Brice against him. Somehow, that little warm body was comforting, and it wrapped it’s arms around him, squeezing hard.

Pansy shot him a look, then reached for the table to haul herself up. Blaise reached over and patted her arm. “I got it. Sit tight.”

Draco smiled weakly at Blaise and accepted the peppermint tea that was offered to him. He took several sips before setting the cup out of reach of small hands, then he adjusted himself on the seat, angling toward Pansy. “So you’re saying that you think I should take an active role in regaining my memory?”

“You mean you haven’t been all along?” Pansy said, and Blaise mirrored her expression of alarm.

Malfoy shrugged. “All I feel is an intense dislike for him, akin to how I…how we all felt at Hogwarts. He is a thorn in my side. And I was talking to Severus-“

Pansy interjected, “Oh, Severus! Why did you even listen to him? Draco, sweetheart, I know he’s your Godfather and all, but deep down, he’s nothing but a bitter old man. He’ll never let go of that old rivalry between him and Harry’s dad. It cut him too deep. He’ll die a bachelor, love. Is that what you want for yourself? To bury all your joys and pains down beneath a lifetime of work that culminates, at best, with a brief passage in a history book?” 

She shook her head. “If only you had some idea of what you were losing…I can guarantee if the two of you don’t reconcile, and you regain yourself later, you’ll spend the rest of your life as one of those nutters who wanders the street collecting cats and talking to themselves…”

“It’s that bad, is it?” Draco ruffled his fingers through his hair.

“Uncle Draco, where is Uncle Harry?” Brice was now tugging on Malfoy’s shirt insistently.

“Well, he’s at home, I suppose!” Draco said, putting on one of those falsely cheery and slightly higher-pitched voices one tends to use with pestering children. “Salazar, did I just wrinkle my nose?” His eyes met with Pansy’s and she nodded seriously.

He slammed his fist on the table, making everyone jump, and the babies start to cry. Then he looked sheepish an apologetic. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s alright, mate,” Blaise said with a smile of exasperation.

“It’s only, I don’t even know who I am any more! Everyone is all, ‘Poor Harry, dying of a broken heart’, but no one has stopped to think about how hard this whole bit has been for me!

It’s like I slept through ten years of my life, and the things I do remember are more like autopilot than anything else. I spend half the day in confusion about who I am and what I’m doing here. And that bloody Potter is a nuisance, always poking his head in, and now with the silly gifts and the phials for the pensieve…” Draco suddenly trailed off, and looked a bit embarrassed to realize he’d gone off on a rant.

After an awkward silence, Pansy offered, “He’s bringing you gifts?”

“Well, yeah. Sweets, and flowers, and…memories… of …special times together,”

She squealed. “That is so romantic! He really does love you! Oh, Draco!”

 

 

Draco left the Zabini household later that afternoon in a mental fog, but with newfound resolve courtesy of the two people he trusted most. He arrived to an empty house, and puttered around for a bit, owling Professor Snape, who was not yet retired from Hogwarts. Then, after an hour had passed, on a whim, he decided to try something he had not yet done since returning from the cruise.

 

 

When Harry returned from his impromptu trip to Ron and Hermione’s, he walked in to a house full of savory aromas. He clomped down the stairs, wondering whether Malfoy had picked up take out, or commanded Kreatcher to make something. He could see into the kitchen from the dining room, and the scene that was taking place took his breath away.

Malfoy was standing with his back to Harry, wand in hand, and conducting food and utensils about the room like a symphony. Harry tucked himself silently into the door frame to watch. He had always loved when Draco cooked, not only was the outcome the most delicious morsels that he had ever eaten (even better than Molly Weasley’s, but he would never admit that to her, although he had told Draco on several occasions), but the grace with which he commanded a meal together was a sight to behold, and one that stirred a rise within his loins.

Draco was humming softly to himself, and seemingly absorbed in the task at hand until he turned to summon something from the pantry. Then, seeing Harry, his concentration broke and the culinary orchestra came to a sudden halt. Harry had to whip his wand out and levitate a few items before they smashed on the floor.

“I….Draco?” Please, please let it be my Draco, Harry begged silently.

“Potter.” Draco’s mouth formed a tight line, and in that moment, his resemblance to Narcissa was clear.

Harry tried not to let his disappointment show through. “You’re…cooking?”

“Yes, well…” He tossed his head with nonchalance, then resumed waving his wand. “I couldn’t very well go on eating your sad excuse for meals anymore, could I? Pansy pointed out how thin I was getting, and I….” He trailed off himself, realizing how much a prat he was sounding. “I remembered how you said I did all the cooking, so I thought I would see if I could remember how.”

Harry’s face broke out in a wide smile. “And do you?”

“I seem to have a natural talent, as is for most things,”

“What are you making?”

“See for yourself,” He summoned a jar of figs from the pantry, then picked up where he’d left off, leaving Harry to poke about the kitchen himself.

“Oh, Draco!” Harry breathed.

Malfoy tried not to cringe. “What is it now?”

“You’re making my birthday meal!”

“Come again?”

“Once a year, for my birthday, you make a special feast with all the things I like the best- roasted quail, and roasted sweet potatoes, treacle tarts…” He was beaming. “Of course you already made it for me a few months back, but I’m more’n happy to have it again!”

“Well, good. Because…it’s what we’re having.” Draco said dumbly. Potter was moving around the kitchen with such a giddiness that it was making him uncomfortable. 

Suddenly, Harry swooped in, pecking Malfoy on the cheek and giving his shoulders a squeeze. “I love you!”

“Gah! Potter!” He waved away the invasion of his personal space, and wiped the wet mark from his cheek, feeling himself flush. “Don’t do…er…will you just go? I can’t concentrate with you in here!”

“Sure. Sorry. I’ll be in the other room if you need me,” Harry tried to wipe the silly grin off his face, but he couldn’t. If Malfoy was making him this special meal, it meant that deep down inside him somewhere, love was still alive. They could trump this, together.


	11. Chapter 11

“Harry.” Draco was breathlessly clinging to him on their picnic cloth, spread on the ground beneath a tree. They were both clothed in sweaters and the leaves had already fallen heavily, wind-swept into drifts.

Harry’s arm was wrapped tightly around Malfoy’s shoulders, and he was nuzzling the blond’s neck after a ruthless bout of snogging in the park. “Mmm?”

“Harry. Come to dinner with me tonight,”

“Okay,” Harry agreed, licking the smooth patch of skin at the junction of Draco’s neck and collar bone. “Where shall we go this time?”

“To my parents,” Draco sighed contentedly, curling his fingers in Harry’s unruly mop.

“What?” Harry’s head snapped up and he eyed his lover.

“I want to take you home to my parents.”

“Are you mad!” It was more of an incredulous statement than a question.

“I don’t want to sneak around with you anymore…” Draco’s palms moved to cup Harry’s face, and he leaned forward, kissing the corner of his mouth.

Harry snorted. “I hardly call rolling about in the park together sneaking around.”

“No? Have you told your friends about us?”

“Us? I didn’t realize we were an exclusive item.”

Draco looked hurt and withdrew from Harry’s embrace to sit on the corner of the checkered blanket. “Have you been seeing someone else all this time?”

“Me? No. I…no. It’s only that I didn’t realize that you thought this was something more than what it is…” Harry looked puzzled.

“And what is it, then?” Malfoy snapped bitterly.

“I thought we were just having a good time. You know, like blokes do.”

“You…” tears were quickly rising in Draco’s eyes, and he blinked several times, biting his lip. “You mean to say that you don’t feel anything when we’re together? I’m nothing more to you than…than a romp?”

“A jolly good romp,” Harry grinned enthusiastically.

“Harry!” Malfoy’s tone held the same exasperating tone that it used to when he would say “Potter!” back at school. Only now there was something other than malice behind those misty grey eyes.

A single tear burst through the dam and rolled down Draco’s pale cheek. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and sniffed, then started to climb to his feet, fingers clenching into tight fists. He was angry with himself for thinking that this was something more, and angry that he had let someone else see such a grievous lapse in his self control.

But then Harry was there, pulling him into an embrace and smothering him with soft butterfly kisses, murmuring, “Don’t, don’t. I’m sorry. Don’t, baby…don’t. Of course I’ll come to your parents for dinner if it means that much to you.”

“I want it to mean something to you,” Draco’s voice was muffled through the fabric cloaking Harry’s shoulder. He was clinging tightly to him, even though he knew he shouldn’t.

“It does, it does. I only just realized it now…” Harry was whispering in a placating manner. “I didn’t think you would ever want me like that,”

“Harry, oh Harry!”

 

 

Draco scowled and pulled his face out of the pensieve. Pansy had been right. It was him, all along, pursuing Potter. But why? Because he was good in the sack? Knowing himself, there had to be a better reason, but it had failed to show itself yet. And that bloody sod had made him cry. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d shed a tear over emotional turmoil. Sure, in sixth year, he’d cried because he took a beater to the face that busted his nose and right cheek bone. And it bloody hurt like the dickens. But because he was upset? Surely not since childhood.

 

The rub was, Draco mused, that now he was doing virtually the same thing to Potter. Unrequited love was a bigger bitch than Delores Umbridge.

 

“Oh, fucking hell!” Potter’s exclamation of exasperation was audible from down the hall. He must have only just gotten out of work. After the first two weeks of vexation and mixed signals, they had given up on coming home from work together, and Harry settled for letting Draco drag him in on time each morning. 

Malfoy’s eyes flashed to the master bedroom door, which was wide open. He scowled, because it meant that Potter would use it as an open invitation to come in and chat.

“Was your day as big a piece of shite as mine, or no?” Harry braced one arm on the door frame as he loosened his tie with one hand, then stripped it off.

“Was alright,” Draco said with a sigh. “Kingsley was in a bit of a mood, though.”

“You’re telling me!” Harry exclaimed, unbuttoning his shirt from the collar down to mid-chest. “I haven’t been ridden so hard since-“

“Since March of ’06.” Draco found himself finishing Harry’s sentence for him.

A laugh bubbled out of Harry, and he looked slightly stunned. “You remember that, do you?”

Malfoy looked rather surprised with himself. “No, but, well, you must have said it a few times before.

“Maybe a few times,” Harry admitted. Then he brightened. “I think I need a drink. You?”

Draco was about the shake his head when his own voice popped into his head. ‘Poor form, Potter! That’s just bad manners!’. “Well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt,”

 

 

“Oh, please don’t make me something sissy,” Draco drawled, looking over Harry’s shoulder into the liquor cabinet.

Harry looked amused and put the bottle of Chambourd back onto the shelf. “You don’t hold your liquor the way you used to, Love.” Nevertheless, he poured two dirty martinis for them instead, presenting one to Malfoy with a flourish.

 

Soon enough, Harry’s impression of Kingsley had them both rolling with laughter. Draco was clutching his side as he spilled gin from his second refill down his pant-leg. But Harry kept right on with his impressions of other well known figures in the department. He was spot on, with just enough exaggeration to make his rendition hysterical.

“Mmph!” He exclaimed with a mouthful of gin, then set his drink on the coffee table. “Oh, Merlin. I nearly forgot! I have to tell you about the Halloween you went as Jareth, the goblin-king to Kingsley’s masquerade ball.”

Draco blinked. “There is no ‘goblin-king’, Potter. There is a head Goblin, at Gringotts’ and his name is--”

Harry waved his hand. “No, no. The Goblin-King is a fictional character from a muggle film I convinced you to watch, and you happened to enjoy. Character’s played by David Bowie, a muggle rock star…”

“Oh. Hmm… I went as a muggle you say?” He perched his elbow on his knee and planted his chin in his palm.

“No, no. Try to keep up. You went as the Goblin King from the film ‘Labyrinth’. Anyway, you picked it because he wears this very tight outfit, shows off his bits. And he’s very androgynous, pretty. So you went as him, and of course all the muggle-borns knew who you were supposed to be right off, including Kingsley’s wife. Except she thought you stuffed your knickers to get the same look. She’s had a few too many…alright, she was off her face. And she came up to you…” Harry had to pause for snickering. “And took a handful of your bits and the look on your face! Then the look on her face!”

“She did what?!?” Draco exclaimed, starting to giggle again, but more at Harry’s reaction than anything else.

“T-t-touched your cock!” Harry guffawed. “And then she realized you weren’t wearing any knickers!”

“Did Kingsley see?” Draco asked in awe.

Harry shook his head side to side while clamping his mouth shut, trying to contain himself. “No. And all these years you thought it was me that told everyone in the ministry how hung you were!”

Draco was laughing again, harder than he could ever imagine. “Tell me more, tell me more!”  
Harry grinned and shuffled his chair closer. “Alright, but first let me refill our drinks…”


	12. Chapter 12

“Get up, Potter, you’re going to be late.”

Harry grumbled and stuffed his head further under his pillow. “What do you care? You’re not even working this week. Taking holiday without me, that’s not even fair!”

Draco was standing in the door way, one foot in Harry’s room, the other planted firmly in the hallway. His arms were folded across his chest. “You know I have earned time from working so many extra hours this year. It’s use it or lose it, as they say.”

Harry ‘harumphed’ and didn’t move.

“So call off,”

“You know I can’t,” Harry complained, rolling over on his back with a sigh. “Right around Christmas is when all those altered muggle-artifacts start popping up right and left, and I can’t do that to Arthur,”

“You mean you can’t do that to Molly…”

“Well, yes. Same thing.”

“Are you getting up or not?”

“Merlin, you’re not even working today, why are you up so bloody early?”

“I,” Draco said self-importantly. “Am an early riser,”

Harry grumbled under his breath with a grin, “You sure are!”

“It’s going to reflect poorly on me if you don’t get your arse in there on time, so get up, or I’ll cast the cold-water spell on you!” He uncrossed his arms and waved his wand threateningly.

Harry sat up instantly and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Alright, I’m up, I’m up,”

 

 

Draco was relaxing at home, having a nice cup of tea, a cranberry scone, and snuggling with Snitch, when a crazed owl began pecking at the window. With a sigh, he got up to let it in, and took the scroll it carried, nudging the cat away with his foot in the meanwhile. Snitch yowled loudly, and the owl started flapping it's wings, hooting.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” He exclaimed aloud. Both the cat and the owl took off in a flurry of feathers and dust.

 

Dearest Draco,

 

Since you are at home and most certainly lonely and bored, and I am here at work, I thought I would send you a little love letter… just kidding. If you haven’t ralphed by now, you’ll find our Christmas shopping list below. You always take care of this business anyway, but I thought I would help you out incase you were feeling a bit rusty.

 

All my love, 

 

~P

 

The note continued further, and Draco had to unwind the parchment several times to see the full list. There were over fifty people on it, from what he could tell, and more than half of them children, ranging from not yet born (Harry had included Pansy’s newest) to 11 years old (Charlie Weasley’s oldest daughter).

 

When Harry came home, Draco was waiting for him and pelted him with the scroll. “Are you bloody mad!”

“Ouch!” Harry rubbed his shoulder where he’d been hit, then grinned. “Didn’t get much shopping done today, I see…”

“How in Merlin’s name am I supposed to shop for almost sixty people, alone?”

Harry shrugged. “I dunno. You always managed before. Had a good time, too. Did you even go to Gringott’s today?”

“Of course not. I’ve been plotting my revenge.”

“Oh?” Harry looked amused. In the past, Draco’s revenge had usually consisted of something intensely kinky and sexual, but he had a feeling that wasn’t the case this time.

He sighed and sank down in the chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, no, of course not.” He waved his hand dismissively.

Harry couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment, but then he crossed behind Draco in the chair, and dropped his hands to the man’s shoulders. Honestly, he wasn’t even thinking about what he was doing. Things had become so much more congenial between the two of them in the last two weeks. His thumbs had just started digging into the tight flesh of Malfoy’s neck when he flinched and started to lean forward, away from the touch.

“Oy! What are you-”

Harry’s hand froze, but then Draco relaxed back into place. “Alright, yes, that feels nice…” He sighed and let Harry continue his massage. “But you’re coming with me on Saturday to go shopping. Don’t you think for one instant that I’m shouldering this burden myself.”

“Yes, dear.” Harry’s smile nearly split his face in half.

 

 

 

 

They had only just returned from the longest morning of Harry’s life, in which they purchased, and had professionally wrapped all the gifts on the list. Just watching Draco in action was exhausting- barking orders right and left, examining products and turning them away with a scowl or flick of his wrist; acceptance with a nod and wave toward the cash register.. They went shopping for all the adults first, and then the children. And it had taken the two of them together to levitate the piled jumble of gifts back home. One corner of the sitting room was entirely filled with brightly wrapped packages, which the cat was eyeing with intent.

“And we don’t even have a tree, yet!” Harry lamented, and Malfoy shrugged. “That’s on you, Potter. I hand-picked every single one of those presents while you stood by and watched!”

“That’s not true!” Harry argued. “I tried to choose a few things, but gave up after you picked apart everything I sent your way.

Draco shrugged with a smile. “You have poor taste.”

"You have expensive tastes," Harry called over his shoulder on his way out the door.

"Can't argue with that," Draco smiled, then bent to scoop Snitch, who was busy curling around his legs, and settled him into his arms.

 

 

Harry was upstairs for less than thirty minutes before he let out a whoop of glee and came crashing down the stairs, only to begin digging through the cupboard below them.

Draco was scowling, because the cat, suddenly startled, had lept off of him, leaving six wide scratches on his chest. "I'm ruddy bleeding, you stupid cat. Stupid Potter."

"Whassat?" Harry called, his head still in the cupboard as he rummaged. He straightened in time to see Draco pull his shirt up over his head- he didn't want blood stains on it, and throw it on the floor before stalking into the kitchen.

Harry hurried after him. "What's wrong with you?"

Draco was standing at the sink, sponging off his chest with a wet cloth and glaring daggers at Harry. "Bloody cat scratched me thanks to you lumbering down the stairs like an oaf,"

"Lemme see..." Harry said, prying his hand away and balling the wet napkin in his fist. Then he laughed. "Oy, you bloody drama queen! I wouldn't even consider that a flesh wound!" He threw the cloth to Draco, who caught it and pelted back.

"What are you looking for anyway?" Malfoy said, following him back into the other room and picking up his shirt.

"Old quidditch gear," he came his muffled response, his head stuffed deep into the cabinet now as he shifted things about.

"It's in the bedroom on the second floor, under the bed." Draco said smugly, folding his arms across his chest.

Harry straightened and shot him a look as if he couldn't believe that Draco even had an inkling of where the gear was. He was halfway up the stairs again, and then Draco was following him. "What do you need it for, anyway?"

"Pick-up game in an hour," Harry replied, dropping to his knees to look under the bed. "Well, I'll be damned, it is under the bed!"

"I want to go!" Draco said enthusiastically, bracing his arms on the door frame and leaning in.

"It's at the Weasley's," Harry said, as if that made all the difference.

"So?" Malfoy challenged with a sneer. 

"I'm just saying. I didn't know if you forgot you were on congenial terms with them now or not. No redhead jokes, no freckle jokes, and no comments that even make reference to their finances or number of children." Harry said firmly, dragging the box out and throwing it on the bed.

"What kind of sot do you take me for?" Malfoy said with a grin.

"Malfoy." Harry said with a sidelong glance. "Let's try to be honest with ourselves, shall we?"

"Alright, alright!" He held his hands up in defeat. "I will be on my best behavior, cross my heart and hope to die." 

They had both ascended to the third floor to change, when suddenly Draco made a mad dash down the hallway, past Harry, shouting, "I get to be seeker!"

All Harry saw was a flash of green and black robes. He barely had his socks on, and hopped out of the room to call down the stairwell, "You'd think so, wouldn't you? Not if I beat you to it!"


	13. Chapter 13

"Vhere are zose boyz?" Fleur demanded from Molly Weasley. She was bouncing her chubby 1 year old daughter on her lap as Mrs. Weasley bustled about a crowded kitchen, cooking. Charlie's wife, Eva, and Percy's wife, Penelope were helping with the cooking, while Fred's wife, Priscilla, and George's wife, Tessa kept an eye on the remaining children in the other room. There were twenty three of them altogether, and the Weasley household was busting at the seams.

"Which boys, dear?" Molly said briskly, picking up her left foot sharply to avoid tripping over a rolling ball. Then she pressed herself into the corner as a hoard of small red-haired children stampeded toward her. "Out, out, out!" She scolded, flapping her arms and chasing after them the way one does with errant chickens.

"Draco and Ha-ree, of courze." Fleur smiled.

As if on cue, Harry flooed in, and he had barely stepped out of the fireplace, when Draco emerged on his heels, nearly impaling himself on the end of Harry’s broomstick. They were dusty and covered with floo powder, and the two of them were slightly out of breath, as if they'd tussled over who would come through first. In fact, they had. Harry turned to beam at Draco. "Guess I'm seeker,"

"That's only because you bit me!" Draco complained sullenly, twisting his forearm to take a gander at the still-red half moons adorning it.

Molly was already wiping her hands on her apron, and she embraced Harry first, giving him a wet kiss on the cheek, that she then wiped away with her thumb. "Oh, Harry! It's so good to see you! And Draco, too..." She turned toward him with a smile, arms coming up automatically. 

Malfoy stepped back hesitantly, then forced himself to smile and accept her embrace. "Molly." 

She hugged him just as warmly as his own mother would. "Oh, honey, it's just so horrible, what happened. How are you feeling?"

"Oh, feeling fine," He smiled akwardly. "Just-”

He was interrupted by Fleur, who got up to embrace him with one arm, balancing her daughter on her hip with the other. She kissed him on the cheek, letting her lips linger, then she smiled at him. “Hello, Draco.”

Malfoy felt his face flush red, and couldn’t figure out why.

“Oh, Fleur!” Harry huffed with a grin. “Get off my boyfriend already, will you? You’re such a fag-hag!” Then he tugged her away to give her a hug, while she blushed.

“Vhat did you call me?”

It took them nearly three quarters of an hour just to pick their way to the front door, hugging everyone, and with Harry reintroducing the Weasley wives to Draco, although he’d met all of them at least twice before. They managed to snag Ginny, who’d been inside with the women, and drag her out with them

As they made their way across the lawn, they could see the Weasley men had begun to play without them. Hermione was standing on the sidelines, wrapped in a dark maroon and yellow scarf, forever their cheerleader.

“ ’Mione!” Harry grinned. “Why aren’t you in the house with the other women?”

She gave him the dirtiest look she could muster. “It’s a hen-house in there, Harry! They all just hassle me about when Ron and I are going to start having children, as if there aren’t enough Weasleys to go around already!”

Her sentiment made Draco grin. “A woman after my own heart!”

Hermione couldn’t help but smile, and after giving Harry a tight squeeze, reached one hand out to pat Draco’s shoulder. “And how are you holding up? Harry says things have gotten better lately, but you’re still not yourself.”

Draco shrugged awkwardly again, then folded his arms across his chest, trying not to sneer. There was something about watching Harry being smothered and touched by all the women around that had him feeling peevish. “Sounds accurate.”

 

When the first game ended, everyone clustered around the group, who had been catching up on one end of the pitch Mr. Weasley had built for the children, when they were still small.

"What's he doing here?" Ron's voice was sharp and accusatory.

Harry shot him a confused look after looking askance at Malfoy. "Well, he is my bloody boyfriend,"

"Is that a fact?" Ron's unyielding gaze was still aimed at Draco, who shrank guiltily behind Harry, even as Bill and Charlie were trying to greet him.

"Merlin, you'd think you were the one with amnesia! What's gotten into you?" Harry said in surprise.

At the same time, Hermione scolded him. "Ronald Weasley, you behave yourself!"

"Malfoy," Ron regarded, narrowing his eyes.

"Weasley." Draco folded his arms across his chest and lifted one eyebrow, as if daring him to reveal what he knew. Everyone had fallen into an uncomfortable silence.

"Alright!" Harry said, throwing his arms up. "We came for a quidditch game, yeah? Who's playing?"

"Me, Charlie, Bill, Fred, George, Percy, Ginny, and you." Ron counted off, pointing around at everyone.

"What about Draco?" Harry said, one hand going to his hip. In that moment, Draco thought he looked the most flamboyant he’d ever looked. He fought the urge to hook his arm through Harry’s and tug him closer.

"The sides'll be uneven." Ron said.

"So what?" Harry said, and the other hand came up, perching on his other hipbone, evening things out.

"I'm not playing," Ginny finally said, chewing her lip.

"Aww, Ginny!" six people said at once.

Fred niggled her with his elbow. "Just because you're a girl doesn't mean you can't play with us men."

George grinned and jostled her from his side. "Just because you play pro doesn't mean you have to sit out so you don't put us all to shame."

"We'll take turns rotating in," Harry offered.

Ginny was blushing. "No, no. I think I'll just sit with Hermione."

There was another round of grumbles.

"I can't play..." Ginny said, refusing to meet everyone's eyes.

There came another round of confused protests, but Draco was the only one quietly assessing her. Then he smiled slyly. “She’s bloody pregnant, you dimwits.” 

There was a collective gasp, and Ginny gave Malfoy a dirty look, that gave him a feeling of triumph for some reason. She looked back toward the house, as if Molly were going to burst out of there any moment, and when she didn’t, relaxed and turned back with a sigh. “Yes, alright, it’s true. But don’t tell anyone, the lot of you! Especially you, Percy! Mum doesn’t know yet and I’ve got to break the news to her myself.”

Bill and Charlie and the twins were jostling to hug her, and Percy patted her on the arm, but Ron, already in a foul mood, had folded his arms across his chest. “Ginny. Who’s the-- ” 

She gave him a dark look. “Don’t you dare even ask that question, Ronnie. Not you, not here.”

There was another awkward silence among them, and Draco leaned in, putting his hand on Ginny’s back. “Thanks for taking the pressure off of me, Red.” He grinned, then hoisted his broom. “Alright, are we going to play quidditch, or what?”

 

The girls had long since abandoned the cold, and the men, and had gone inside to the refuge of a warm, albeit noisy and cluttered house. The men played until after it was dark, and Molly called them in for dinner. Breathless, they trudged back toward the house, spelling one another clean lest they suffer Molly’s wrath. Harry was ahead, talking Dragons with Charlie, and Ron took the opportunity to catch up with Draco. He shoved at the blond’s shoulders, causing him to stumble a bit before he whirled to face him.

“What is your problem, Weasel?” He was fumbling, seemingly for his wand, but his fingers were chilled to the bone and uncooperative.

“I told you to stay at home with your boyfriend, didn’t I?”

Malfoy looked confused. “But I’m here with him. Salazar, it’s not like I cloned myself.”

“I’m talking about Wednesday,” He growled. “You were seen in Nocturn Alley, entering the pub, alone.”

“Merlin, what are you, tailing me, Weasley?”

“I told you I would find out if you did anything to hurt Harry. Being an auror has its advantages, Malfoy.” He pointed his wand, which he managed to retrieve without a problem, straight at Draco’s face. “And I warned you what would happen if you crossed me.”

Draco swatted the wand with his hand. “Please,” he scoffed. “There are children here. And you don’t scare me.”

In an instant, Ron had closed the distance between them, hauling Draco up by a handful of his shirt, and he stabbed the wand against his cheek again. “That’s a warning, Ferret. Get your head out of your arse, or I’ll put it there permanently!”

Malfoy eyed him with typical nonchalance. “If you must know, I was meeting Severus about a memory potion.”

“What?” Ron’s grip suddenly loosened and Draco was able to step backward a pace, straightening his shirt.

“A memory potion,” Draco repeated with a smirk. “To get it back.”

Ron was turning red. “Harry didn’t mention anything about-“

Malfoy waved his hand. “I didn’t tell him. There’s not a good chance it will work, and it will take another week to brew, anyhow. He’ll get his knickers all atwist about it.”

“If you’re lying—“ Ron threatened.

Malfoy finally turned his back and started after the others, who were nearly inside by now: Harry was holding the door in the distance and looking concerned. “Talk to Severus, for all I care, but if you tell Potter, I’ll kill you.”


	14. Chapter 14

Malfoy thought about his meeting with Snape all the way back to the Weasley dinner table…

 

 

“I want the potion, Severus.”

He splayed his hands, taking a minute to choose his words. “You didn’t seem interested, not so long ago, Draco. This is your chance, for a better life…”

“I have to know how I came to be here after so many years. There was something keeping me here,”

“Pity,” Snape scoffed, then took a long draught of his ale.

“We both know I wouldn’t waste ten-no, twelve years of my life on that…”

“True.”

“You’re hiding something from me,” Draco accused.

Severus didn’t deny it.

“If you won’t make it for me, I’ll make it myself!” Malfoy started to push away from the table.

Snape’s hand snapped out and took a hold of Draco's wrist tightly. “When was the last time you brewed so much as a cup of tea?”

Draco’s silence was the answer Severus was waiting for. He released the younger man's wrist and gestured for him to take his seat. When he did, he continued with his warning. “If done improperly, the memory potion has the potential to wipe your mind as clean as a slate and leave you a dribbling fool. Nothing more than a vegetable. Is that a chance you’re willing to take?”

“Are you going to risk it?”  
Severus thought on this a long while, then gave in with a heavy sigh. "As you wish, Draco. It will take two weeks to brew, and must be imbibed over the course of three days. Of course, you realize, that even with my talent, the potion is not guarenteed to retrieve what you've lost, and only marginally increases your chances, especially given your previous confession..."

 

Harry gave Malfoy a strange look as he neared. "Alright then?"  
Draco nodded without as much as a backward glance at Ron, who had been quick to catch up, and the three of them were the last inside for supper.

"Oh, Harry, Ron, Draco-honey, you're all just in time to help Arthur stretch the table a bit more so we'll all fit..." Molly smiled as she bustled back into the kitchen. Each of them staked down a corner and tugged, gently pulling the table, like taffy, another foot or so to accommodate the growing Weasley family. The others, already seated, were holding steady the dishes of food and the beverage glasses that had already been placed.

After everything was in order, they took their seats at the free end, and Draco found himself next to Ginny, as Harry had inserted himself in the seat immediately opposite Ron. Despite their seating arrangements, and Draco's discomfort at being surrounded by over thirty redheads, he made it through dinner just fine. The meal was just winding down when Molly sent a knowing look to Arthur, then cleared her throat, and patted her mouth with her linen before placing it in her lap.

"Well then," She beamed. "It's been more than ten years since a Christmas passed in this household without the promise of a new baby on it's heels. So who is it this year? Eva? No, Penelope?" Molly continued in this fashion around the table, and garnered declinations from all. Ginny was becomming more red-faced by the moment, but it seemed only her brothers were aware of her mortification.  
As Molly reached Hermione, she became visibly excited. "Oh, Hermione, it's finally you, sweetheart, isn't it? Oh, yes, thank you! Ronnie! Arthur, pour the champagne!"

With a wave of his wand, bottles bounced from cabinets and popped their own corks. Several Weasleys ducked for cover underneath the table, and Fleur wrapped her arms protectively around three of her smallest children within reach. Then the bubbly was flowing into the empty glasses that had been placed for such an occasion. 

Hermione gave another one of her infamous dirty looks. " I am not pregnant, and I'll thank you not to spread that rumor." The commotion at the table died down suddenly and a wave of discomfort flooded the room.

"Hey!" The loud protest came from Ginny, who had lifted her champagne glass in one hand to match everyone else's posture. Draco reached over, snatched it deftly, and drained the glass in a single movement.

"Draco, dear," Molly looked appalled at his sudden lapse in manners. "We haven't even started the toast yet!"

With another flick of Arthur's wand, Ginny's glass was refilled. She took it back with a dark look, but just in time for George to steal and drink the bubbly himself. Molly became more and more flustered as the game continued, with Fred, Harry, and even Percy stealing Ginny's glass. Ginny was maroon, and nearly purple by the time the champagne ran out.

"Now you all stop that!" Molly chastised. "You're all behaving like children! Ginny is more than old enough to have a drink with the family!"

"Molly," Arthur said softly, and then when she continued her tirade, louder. "Molly!"

She looked first to him, then followed his gaze to Ginny. Then, as it slowly dawned on her, her mouth opened, then closed serveral times. Finally she was able to choke out, "Ginevra Weasley!"

Ginny slumped in her seat, and everyone else took the cue to begin clearing the table.

The grumble of heated voices (Ginny and Mrs. Weasley) in the kitchen could barely be heard over the tomfoolery going on in the living room. The Weasley ladies had gathered up the smaller tots for bed, and the eight oldest were assaulting Harry while everyone else conversed. Draco found himself oddly amused by the site of Potter at the bottom of a squealing pile of children. Harry seemed quite happy to be there, tickling, poking, wrestling, and playing dead, only to come back to life just before a wet or sticky finger made it's way into his eyes or ears, or mouth. Charlie and Bill's oldest two had the brilliant idea of stacking the smaller children strategically on Harry's limbs, and once restrained, they pounced and tickled with retaliation themselves. 

Malfoy couldn't help the mirthful laugh that bubbled out of him as Harry squirmed and squealed. "Get him in the under-arm," He directed with a wide grin.

"Draco, no!" Harry practically screamed when tiny fingers prodded his most sensitive spot-when it came to tickles anyway. He bucked and convulsed, and then suddenly children were rolling off him and running, screaming away from 'Harry the Dementor' who loomed over them threateningly, before snatching one up and delivering "The Kiss"- a long and loud raspberry- to a bared stomach.

"Draco Malfoy!" And amused voice suddenly purred in his ear. The brush of auburn curls against his shoulder told him it was Hermione lingering there. "I daresay you're enjoying this!"

He accepted the glass of champagne she offered him; forgotten at the end of dinner and recently chilled by magic; then scooted over to make more room for her beside him on the loveseat. "Maybe," He admitted with a grin.


	15. Chapter 15

“A little help, please?” Harry said, banging the door open. Draco was in the sitting room on the first floor, and from the sounds of it, Harry was struggling to bring the Christmas tree in himself. Draco settled down his book, and stretched in front of the fireplace a minute before padding out to see what was going on.

He stood smirking in the entryway, watching as Harry tried to stuff what was quite possibly the largest tree the Grimmauld place had ever seen, through the tiny door.

“Could you help me?” Harry huffed again.

“Salazar, are you a wizard or what? Must you always insist on doing this the muggle way?” Draco’s wand slipped from his shirt-sleeve into his hand and he waved it, widening the door so that they could have easily fit two towering fir trees through it. Then he widened all the doorways through which they’d need to pass and levitated the tree out of Harry’s grasp. Harry grinned, then ran to get the water pot for the base, and the tree-skirt. Draco lowered the tree in, making a face at Harry who was covered in sticky sap. “You’re a mess. Anchor that tree and don’t come near me until you’ve cleaned up!”

Harry anchored the tree, then lumbered toward him with outstretched arms until Draco squealed and ran half-way up the stairs. “I mean it! Not another step unless you want your nose on the wrong side of your skull!”

“Yes, Dear.” Harry grinned, waving a cleaning charm over himself. “Are you going to help me decorate the tree?”

“No,” Draco said, coming slowly back down the steps. “I’m in the middle of that book, and I want to finish it. You do it.”

“Scrooge,” Harry pouted. “Grinch,”

“Just get to it, yeah? You’re the one who had to have a tree, remember?”

Harry shot him an incredulous look. “It’s not Christmas without one!”

Malfoy shrugged and settled back down into his chair. “Oh, and there’s hot chocolate in the kitchen.”

“You made me hot chocolate?” Harry said incredulously.

“No, you ponce, I made myself hot chocolate, but I saved the rest for you,” Draco grinned to himself behind the pages of his book. He really had made the cocoa for Harry. One look out the window had shown snow swirling around in the blustery wind, and he was glad that he wasn’t out tramping around in the cold himself.

As Harry began to decorate the tree, he hummed muggle Christmas tunes to himself, and Draco pretended to be annoyed. Every now and again, he would peek out from one corner of his book, and wave his wand to subtly re-arrange the ornaments so that they were more symmetrical and aesthetically pleasing. Then Harry grumbled something about finding the star for the top, and disappeared to rummage for the final decoration that somehow was missing. Draco took the opportunity to do a major over-haul on the tree, peering out from behind one corner of his book. He became so engrossed in his task that he didn’t hear Harry return until he cleared his throat from just the other side of Draco’s book. Malfoy was so startled that he dropped his wand, and his book fell onto his lap. 

“Didn’t want to help me, eh?” Harry’s eyes sparkled.

Draco’s face was quickly turning pink. “You were doing a terrible job,” he said.

“So you tell me every year,” Harry grinned, and reached out to muss Draco’s hair. “Prat,”

“Ponce,” Draco grumbled with a smile as he flattened his hair.

“Did you want to do the star?” Harry offered, holding out the elaborate silver topper with stained glass cut-outs.

Draco shook his head, and watched as Harry levitated the star to the top of the tree; the only part of his decoration that he bothered to use magic for. When he was finished, Draco waved his wand to straighten it, then disappeared into the kitchen, only to re-emerge with two steaming cups of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and a dusting of cocoa powder.

“Thanks,” Harry said as he flopped down onto the sofa with a sigh. 

Draco perched beside him and licked a patch of the cream away with a smile.

“Oh, Merlin, You’re killing me!” Harry groaned.

Draco only smirked at him and moved further out of arms reach. “Stay away from me, Potter. You’re covered in glitter!”

 

\--Later that Same Night-- 

 

Severus had owled Draco nearly two hours before, and here Draco was, sitting alone in the pub in Nocturn Alley. He felt bad enough lying to Potter about where he was going in the first place- Harry had pestered him about coming along until he had to say he was doing some last minute Christmas Shopping and had to pick up a few things for Harry. When he paused to think about it, he realized he hadn’t gotten him a single thing, and now he had to make good on his lie. After wasting all this time, if Snape didn’t show, Draco wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but he knew one thing for certain: He was going to be very, very angry.

Just when Malfoy had just about given up, a harried looking Snape slid into the booth seat across from him. “My apologies, Draco. There was an…issue at Hogwarts that needed my attention.” He elaborated no further, and reached into his wool overcoat, withdrawing three large phials from an inner pocket. Severus slid them across the table to Draco, who was impatiently drumming his fingers. He accepted them, and lifted one to the dim light, tilting it back and forth and watching the opalescent fluid flow, clinging only briefly to the smooth inner glass before rejoining itself.

“What do I owe you?” Malfoy said finally, pocketing them.

“An apology, for starters,” Severus deadpanned.

Draco sighed heavily. “I’m sorry that I can’t explain this to you in a way you’ll understand. I loved him once. Hating him without reason is too easy, and the more I look for one, the less I find. He’s not so bad, you know…”

At this, Snape snorted, and Malfoy finally raised his eyes to meet Severus’.

“Seven Galleons for the ingredients. I won’t charge you for my time, or my patience, both of which I am certain have been entirely wasted.”

“How kind of you,” Draco grumbled, digging into a different pocket for the coins. “How should I take it?”

“Orally.” Finally, Severus seemed amused, and after he’d slid the coins from the tabletop into his palm, he continued. “You must drain the first phial by midnight tonight. Be sure to note the time, because it is essential that you take the remaining two at the same time, over two consecutive nights. If you choose to drink the potion tonight, mind you there’s still time to decline, but if you choose to do so, you must follow through with the others. There will be ill-effects if you do not follow my instructions carefully-the outcome of which are not well documented, but suffice it to say they are likely very painful…there was one case of a liquefied brain, in the seventeenth century, although the translation may have been garbled…one really ought not to risk it.”

Draco paled. “Anything else?”

“Not that I am aware of,”

The blond stood, nodding. “I’d stay for a drink, but thanks to your poor timing, I’m running late for other engagements,”

“Last minute Holiday shopping?” Snape smirked.

Draco leaned his face closer with a sneer. “You bloody know I hate it when you do that,”

Severus shrugged. “You are only a talented Occlumens when you keep your mind cloaked at all times.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and straightened, pulling on his over-coat and scarf. “Oh, and Sev? Thanks,” He patted his breast where the phials were safely tucked away. “I know it practically killed you to do this favor for me,”

He grunted in response, and stared into the distance.

 

On the way back to the Grimmauld place, Malfoy stopped at a wizard jewelry store and bought a lovely gold wristwatch that was guaranteed never to stop working, and to always be accurate no matter the time zone or area one was in. The certificate of authenticity it came with was signed and numbered by the goblin who had made it. He’d spent entirely too long in the store, he realized, when he came back out into the chilly evening air. As he looked up and down the streets, there were only mostly darkened shops. There was a chance he would have to venture out into the muggle-shopping centers, which he’d overheard, would be open until midnight the week leading to Christmas.

By the time Draco made it home with an armload of spur-of-the-moment gifts, he had but half an hour to consume the first phial. Harry was still in the sitting room, gazing fondly at the tree. He got up to greet Draco and shut the door behind him, but the blond ran up the stairs, shouting, “No peeking, Potter!”

Malfoy hefted the gifts onto the mattress rather unceremoniously then flopped beside them and withdrew the phials from his pocket. He hadn’t left himself much time for reconsideration. Draco rolled on of the glass cylinders between his palms and closed his eyes. Potter. No, Harry.

Suddenly, Draco stood and crossed to the dresser. He slipped to his knees and pulled open the bottom drawer where he’d crammed all the photos and memorabilia that documented their…togetherness, on the first night he’d arrived here. He drew them out one by one and briefly glanced over each frame. There wasn’t a single one where the two of them didn’t look maddeningly happy. In some, they even gazed into one another’s eyes with adoration. 

Malfoy blinked several times, realizing he really had been an unsufferable prat for the last four months. And through it all, Harry had stuck by his side; patient, caring, loving, doting. Draco wasn’t sure he would have had the strength to keep it all up himself, if their roles had been reversed. If anything, he owed it to Harry to drink the potion, never mind his own selfish reasons for wanting to know why he’d loved him in the first place…

With a minute to spare, Draco uncorked the phial and tipped it to his lips. He gagged on the fluid, which was warm from being held in his palm, and somewhat viscous. It had an extremely bitter flavor, and a faintly sweet yet unpleasant aftertaste. It had probably taken Severus two weeks to bottle enough come, and the last two hours the properly glamour the phials, Draco thought to himself, wiping the sticky residue from his lips. Then he shook his head to clear it, before he started gagging again.

Standing, he finally withdrew his arms from the sleeves of his coat and unwrapped his scarf. He stuffed all of the gifts, unwrapped, beneath the bed-frame, then ran to brush his teeth. When he returned, he changed into his pajamas and clambered into bed.


	16. Chapter 16

Draco had gone to bed awhile ago, and lain there awake for some time. He was busy recounting all the things Harry had done for him, and said to him since that first night on the cruise ship. Then he thought about all the things Harry had done that made him laugh, and not with spite-but with happiness. He thought about the way he played with the Weasley children, and the way he went out of his way to help someone else, if he could. Harry was more than just the Golden Boy...he was a good person, and deserving of the accolades he'd received....Draco was glad he'd taken the potion, and was just about to drift off to sleep when the door to the master bedroom cracked open.

“Draco?” Came Harry’s soft whisper.

Malfoy didn’t respond right away and Harry took this as his cue that he was fast asleep. He slid the door open a little wider, then braced his body against the doorframe, sighing softly.

This was not the first time Potter had snuck in to watch Draco sleep. The other times, Malfoy had been irritated with his mere presence, but something was different this time. There was something warm and sweet about the whole ordeal. After a few minutes, Draco groaned softly and scooted back on the mattress, making room for Harry. He propped himself up on one elbow and lifted the bed-clothes with his other hand.

“Come on then, Boy-Wonder,” Draco said with a smile.

Harry looked more than startled, but clambered under the blankets quickly, as if he were afraid Draco would recant his offer. Cool fingers reached out hesitantly, and removed his glasses, folding them gently. Harry took them back and placed them on the bedside table, blinking. He wondered if he was dreaming. “I have been waiting for this moment for so long,” Harry said with a strained voice, trying to contain his emotion. 

Malfoy took his face in his hands and kissed him tentatively. “How you’ve managed to charm me twice in one lifetime is beyond me,” he said softly. “But somehow, you’ve done it.”

Harry’s face cracked into a grin. “Charming snakes is easy when you’re a parselmouth.” He slid closer against Draco, and let his tongue flicker along the blond man’s jaw-line, hissing lowly.

“I’ve got a parcel for your mouth,” Draco groaned, shifting his hips forward.

“Oh, don’t tease me!” Harry said painfully.

“Who’s teasing?” Draco asked as his fingers began undoing the buttons of Harry’s flannel pajamas. Harry’s skin was searing hot under his fingertips, but Draco managed to leave goose bumps somehow in their wake. He paused to tug on Harry’s nipples until they were hard little buttons between his thumb and forefinger, then helped him out of his top. Pushing back the sheets a bit, he slid one leg over Harry’s thighs, nestling the crevice of his bum against the hard ridge of Harry's cock. He worked his hips back and forth ever so slightly as he drew off his own silk pajama top, letting it pool on the bed beside them.

Harry sucked in a deep breath. “If you want me to suck your cock, you’d better stop that right now.”

“Or what?” Draco whispered teasingly.

“Or I’m going to roll you over on your stomach and pound you into the mattress,” Harry threatened.

“Can’t you do both?”

Harry sat up so quickly that Draco scrambled backward. He laughed low and deep in his throat, and seized Draco by his calves, hauling him back toward him. Then he roughly stripped him of his pants, and licked a long line up Draco's thigh to his eagerly pulsing prick. Harry licked the head slowly, gathering a drop of pre-come on his tongue before smearing it around the velvety skin. 

Draco moaned as he watched Harry take him in inch by inch until his nose was buried in white-blonde curls. “F-f-fuck, P-p-potter!” He stammered, grabbing fistfuls of brown hair as he felt his dick sliding back and forth against the silky tunnel of Harry’s throat. Just when he thought he couldn’t take it any more, Harry pulled quickly off of him, and gripping the base of Malfoy’s cock in one hand, spread his legs wider with the other.

That hot, wet mouth moved downward, sucking one testicle into his mouth, and then the other, tongue laving them rapidly. “Ah, Merlin, Harry!”

Harry drew up, quickly, sucking the head of Malfoy’s cock into his mouth again, tongue swirling just enough to draw another cry from him, and then he pushed Malfoy back on the bed, spreading his cheeks with both hands now. His head dipped and his tongue found the pucker of Draco’s arse. He licked a wide stripe, tasting that familiar tangy musk, then set about teasing Malfoy until his body was tight and his hips were coming up off the mattress.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Harry questioned hoarsely, his thumbs digging into Draco’s hips.

“Yes, sweet Salazar, yes!”

Harry pulled back, shoved his own pants down around his knees, and accio’d the lube, concentrating on the copious amount he’d poured into his palm. He grunted, “Roll over, then,”

Draco groaned and moved quickly onto his stomach, pushing his bottom upward for easy access. Harry slicked them both, dragging his fingers back and forth across the gland deep in Draco’s arse until the man was riding his fingers. Then he slipped them out, cracking Malfoy on the arse with the same sticky palm before feeding himself into the pink and clenching hole.

“Mmmm, ahhhh!” Draco sighed as he buried his face in the pillow. He felt a hand yank his head backward, and Harry commanded him:

“I want to hear how much you like this,”

“Oh, fuck!” He whispered, twisting the sheets below him as Harry pulled in and out a bit more roughly. “I like it,”

Harry released his tangled grip in the blond’s hair and took a hold of slender hips on either side, anchoring him so that he could slam in a bit harder, stabbing his cock ruthlessly against Draco’s prostate gland until a wordless keen was coming from him.

“Oh, fuck, Draco….I….” Harry gasped as his rhythm became erratic. Draco’s hand found his, pulling it around to the front of them, and together, they stroked Malfoy to completion. The clenching ring of Draco’s arsehole was Harry’s undoing. He cried out and pumped his hips until it seemed he was empty, and then Draco was easing forward on the mattress until Harry was lying on top of him.

“Am I crushing you?” He panted, struggling to push himself to his knees.

“No, stay,” came the muffled response.

“Merlin, Draco, I love you,” Harry breathed, smothering kisses across the back of his head and neck.

Draco didn’t say anything, but at least he didn’t snort, and that was more than enough for Harry.

 

Malfoy awoke promptly at six, as usual, but was reluctant to move for the first time in weeks. Harry was snuggled against his back and he marveled at the way their bodies fit together. He wriggled closer, pressing his bum against Harry’s morning wood, and heard a soft groan in response. Harry, however, didn’t much stir, other than to tighten his arm around Draco’s waist.

Malfoy let himself doze awhile longer, until the urgency of his bladder became too much to ignore. He tried to gently disentangle himself from harry, who clung to him, whining, “Don’t!”

He patiently removed Harry’s hands from himself several times until he was finally able to scoot out of reach. When he returned from the bathroom, yawning, he found Harry sprawled in the center of the bed, coverlet thrown to the floor. His cock jutted majestically from a nest of brown curls. The sight made Malfoy stop dead in his tracks, and smirking, he placed his hands on his hips.

“Oh, you’re up.”

Harry snickered and rubbed a hand through his already wild hair. “Get back over here and keep me warm,” He commanded.

“What are your plans for the day?” Draco asked as he clambered over Harry to a free spot on the mattress.

“Plans?” Harry squeezed a pale, smooth ass cheek as it passed. “First, I’m going to fuck you silly, and then you’re going to fix me brunch. And then we’re going to fuck again, followed by a nap. And then, I think, a hot shower before the Yuletide dinner at your mums. Then more sex.”

Draco laughed at him. “You sound so sure of yourself, Mister Potter.”

“I know what I want and I know how to get it,” Harry bared his teeth in a wide smile. “I learned that from you,”

“That a fact?” Draco said, inserting himself between Harry’s thighs and brushing one hand over his pulsing cock. “And what if I want to fuck you first?”

“Fight you for it!” Harry grunted, lifting his hips and throwing one leg against Malfoy’s torso, knocking the man sideways before rolling atop him. Draco squealed, and the two of them began to wrestle for dominance.


	17. Chapter 17

They were nearly late for the thirty-fourth annual Malfoy Christmas-Eve Yuletide dinner. The manor was so full of guests, however, that neither Narcissa nor Lucius were free to notice. They briefly mingled with a few of the more affluent Wizarding families, then took their seats, surprised to find that the Zabini family had declined attendance this year. 

Later, Draco heard through the grapevine that Pansy was due practically any moment, and had been ordered to bed rest by her healer. Dinner went swimmingly, and Draco was surprised at how well Harry managed himself, even in the face of a few lingering long-standing grudges. After dinner, they milled about with the other guests, having drinks. Draco thought Harry had one hot toddy too many, but Lucius was keeping everyone’s glass filled, and at one point, even rumpled Harry’s hair affectionately after an overzealous laugh.

Malfoy kept an eye on the clock, and was sure to wind down his conversation in time to slip away. He was surprised to see Mr. and Mrs. Crabbe occupying their kitchen, snogging and groping one-another like teenagers. He made a face, and back pedaled, snaking through the growing crowd of people (many received invitations that did not include the more exclusive dinner), and snuck up the staircase. He’d just made it into his old bedroom suite and taken the second phial from his pocket when the door burst open and a breathless Harry slipped in, exclaiming, “Whew! I thought we’d never get away!” Then he frowned. “Oy! What’s that?”

Malfoy looked sheepish. “A tonic…I’ve…got a headache,” He lied, uncorking it and backing away from Harry who was quickly advancing toward him.

“Doesn’t look like any tonic I’ve ever seen!” Harry accused. “You’re not using again, are you?”

“Using what?!” Draco looked horrified as Harry snatched it from his hand and sniffed it.

“Illegal, mind altering potions,” Harry said, smelling again, then looking at the potion dubiously.

“Give it back, I need that!” Draco cried, grabbing for the phial.

Harry turned his back. “Uh unh. Not until you tell me what this really is!”

“Bloody hell, Harry!” Draco cursed. “It’s a potion that’s supposed to help me get my memory back, and if you don’t give it back to me right now, my brain is going to liquefy and leak out my ears!”

“Really?” Harry turned, still looking with disbelief.

“Yes, really!” Draco craned his neck to look at the mantel clock over the fireplace in his bedroom. “And you’ve got thirty seconds before melt-down!” he squeaked. “Oh Merlin, Harry, you’ve got to trust me on this one!”

“Jesus, alright, here!” Harry thrust the potion back at Draco, who gulped it down just in time. This time, the flavor was sickly-sweet, and vaguely medicinal. He wondered if he’d taken it too late, but only time would tell.

Harry was there, wiping one corner of Malfoy’s mouth with his thumb. “You’ve got a little…” he explained, then took Draco’s hand and pulled him toward the bed.

“Harry, I don’t think we should-“ he started to say, before he was interrupted.

“Was that really a memory potion?”

“Sweet Salazar, yes!” Draco exploded. “And I’ve got another one to take tomorrow night. Severus made it, you see, and I…”

“I wasn’t aware of any memory-inducing potions,” Harry said crossly. “And why didn’t you tell me you were taking it?”

“Don’t be a berk,” Draco sighed. “I didn’t know there were any either, and clearly, neither did any of the healers I saw. But you know mother, she contacted him, and being a potions master, he was able to find something obscure in one of his books. And I didn’t tell you,” He explained, crossing his arms, “Because there isn’t a good chance it will work, and the liquefying brain thing is a rare side-effect, if I don’t take it on time.”

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” Harry screamed, jumping to his feet. “I thought you were being melodramatic. There’s a chance that stuff is going to melt your brain? Merlin, why would you even take it? If you had told me that, I would have stopped you from drinking it! Merlin, I’d rather have you hate me for all of eternity than have your brain melted! Jesus, Draco! What were you thinking?”

Malfoy slipped off the mattress and tried to embrace Harry, who was pacing around the room like a father in the delivery room. “That you deserve better,”

“Jesus, Draco…” his voice slipped to a whisper and he leant his weight against him. Harry pressed their foreheads together and he kissed Draco’s lips fervently. “Things were just getting good between us, I don’t want to lose you again,”

Draco cradled his head, then kissed the crown before drawing Harry’s face upward. Their eyes locked. “Now who’s being melodramatic?” He smoothed Harry’s hair down with a smile. “My brain didn’t melt last night, and look at me now, I’m fine. I did this for you, Harry. Selfless act of the century, yeah? And…and…it’s Christmas now, and there’s a law about not being a prat on Christmas,” He rationalized with a grin.

“If there was,” Harry grumbled, “You would have been thrown in Azkaban years ago,” Then, despite his best efforts, a smile cracked through his frown.

“Come on,” Draco said, taking his hand. “If mother finds us up here, she’s going to have a bird,”

Harry let Draco drag him toward the door, and he grinned. “Best not to remind you what happened the second Christmas we were together then…”

But it seemed Draco wasn’t paying attention. “Oh, Salazar!” Malfoy said, turning with his hand to his mouth after opening the door. “I never wrapped any of your gifts!”

Harry flapped his hand impatiently. “Oh no, the world may just end! This will forever be remembered as the year Draco Malfoy didn’t give a perfectly wrapped present on Christmas morning! Your family will have to go into hiding for the shame!”

“Harry Potter! You ghastly beast!” Draco frowned at him. “I risk my life just to fall in love with you again, and this is how you repay me? On Christmas?!”

Harry grinned and tugged him back into the bedroom, waving his wand at the door. “All I want for Christmas, is you,”

“Oh, Merlin! Not that song again,” Draco rolled his eyes, but let himself be pulled into Harry’s arms.

“Give me a minute and I’ll have you singing too,” Harry mumbled into Draco’s mouth. And then their tongues were too busy to continue the conversation.

 

 

Christmas came and went. There were, what seemed like, thousands of presents and screaming children in the Grimmauld place on Boxing Day, which is when Harry and Draco traditionally celebrated the Christmas holiday with their friends. 

Hermione had grudgingly announced that yes, actually, she and Ron were pregnant, finally, and told Harry in secret that she wasn’t quite sure how it all happened, because they had been using a number of precautions. Draco had stuck his head between them, and with a grin, announced that some things were meant to be, and no matter what one did to fight it, eventually you had to accept your fate. As he passed, they caught sight of a pair of Weasley-extendable ears dangling from his rear pocket.

It wasn’t long before Harry had sic’d the Weasley children on him, and laughed with sweet, sweet revenge when they tickled him until he was screaming breathlessly for Harry to save him.

Harry and Draco waited for the memory potion to kick in, and after a week, stopped crossing their fingers. Draco owled Snape to let him know that his brain was still blissfully intact and functional, but that the potion hadn’t done a lick of good. Snape owled back a very formal “Told you so,” and Harry became convinced that it was a placebo, given that he never supported their relationship in the first place.

 

Then one chilly day in April, Harry and Draco were having a stroll down in Diagon Alley before meeting Pansy and Blaise for lunch.

“Oh, Salazar!” Draco said, pulling his hands from his pockets and rubbing them together, then blowing on them. “It’s colder out here than I thought it was going to be!”

Harry took his wand from his pocket and warmed Malfoy’s fingers, then took them in his own hand.

Draco pulled his hands free with a smile. “Did you book the cruise again for this year, yet? Lets go to Aruba, this time!”

Harry smiled. “Are you sure you want to do that again after what happened the last time?”

“Oh, bloody hell, we’re 4 years from the platinum membership, and what are the chances I’m going to get amnesia again?”

“I already booked it last week,” Harry admitted, and Draco swatted him on the arm, then bumped into him gently.

“Say,” Draco slowed and turned to Harry, after seeing a flyer for Gem’s class rings, advertising all sizes and styles, last Call for Hogwarts Students of the 2011 graduating class. “Do you remember the day I gave you my class ring? You wore it on your pinky for the longest time…What did you ever do with it, anyway?”

“Remember? Of course I remember,” Harry laughed. “You were such a prat about it, like you were giving away a prized family heirloom. It’s in the box in the top drawer in the bureau next to mine, It kept slipping around on my hand when I went through that jogging phase, and I thought I was going to lose it. You never wore mine though, I wonder why?”

“Because your big meaty fingers are ten sizes larger than mine, and you didn’t want me to transfigure it because you were afraid I’d disrupt the setting…”

“Hey!” Harry protested with a smile. “Last night, you liked my big, meaty fingers when they were knuckle-deep in your-”

“Don’t you even say it, Harry James Potter! Don’t you dare as to be so vulgar in public!”

Malfoy had continued walking, and had to stop when he realized Harry hadn’t moved from the spot they paused in. “Oh, what is it now? You’re not going to sulk all afternoon, are you?”

But Harry was grinning. “Draco.”

“What?” 

“Draco, you had a memory from when we were first together!”

“I….well, so I did!” He looked pleased with himself. “I think I might just remember everything!”

“Well, when did this come on?” Harry said excitedly, rushing back to Draco and crushing him in a hug.

Draco huffed and disentangled himself. “Oof! Damn it, Harry, you know how I feel about public displays of affection!” He dusted himself off and straightened his jacket. “I’m not sure,” He finally said with dignity. “It must have just come on, snuck up on me when I wasn’t paying attention. You, of all people know how that is,”

“Why, you filthy little prat!” Harry said with mock horror, then started after Draco, who dodged him and began to run down the street.

“Harry! Harry, you stay away from me!” He called in warning. “So help me, if you muss my clothes before lunch with Pansy!”

 

 

 

Harry planned an impromptu-party to celebrate the return of Draco’s memory. It was a small pot-luck gathering in the park the following weekend, which luckily, was much warmer.

Ginny showed up on the arm of Viktor Krum, finally revealing that he was the father of her baby. It had been a huge hush-hush secret, firstly because she had been afraid to tell him, and secondly because they played on rival quidditch teams, and the media was going to have a field day when the found out. But, Ginny had taken an indefinite leave of absence now that she was pregnant, and Viktor seemed like he was finally willing to settle down and be a one-girl man. Hermione blushed on seeing him, and Ron scowled, but then the four of them agreed to have their photos taken together, in good humor. Hermione and Ginny posed in the center with their just-showing baby bumps, and then men capping them on either end.

Everyone they invited came, including Neville, who brought his muggle-wife Lyddie for the first time. She hung on the outskirts with Luna, who’s company, for some reason, she seemed to enjoy. 

“Erm, here you go!” Neville said nervously, and offered their dish to Malfoy.

Draco accepted it and peered over the sides at the non-descript jumble of food bits mixed with something creamy. It looked like something Snitch may have thrown up once. “Well, thanks, Longbottom,” He said graciously, and tried not to wrinkle his nose. “What is it?”

“Um, ah, it’s….Amnesia Salad!” He said with a smile.

“I think you mean Ambrosia,” Hermione corrected him.

“It….looks delicious…” Draco said uneasily. “What’s in it?”

“I forget!” Neville announced, and they all began to laugh.

 

 

 

Epilogue:

 

 

Harry was sitting in the drawing room when he received an official St. Mungo’s owl. “Oh, dear. Oh, Merlin. Draco!” He sent the owl on its way, then closed the window tightly. He walked into the door frame on his way into the hallway, and had to pause to rub his shoulder. “Draco!” He called down the stairwell.

Finally, Draco’s face appeared at the bottom. “What is it? I’m making dinner! Can’t it wait?”

“It can’t wait!” Harry said, flapping the parchment at him. “Pansy’s in the hospital. She’s in labor!”

“What!” Draco said incredulously. “It’s too early!”

Harry came rushing down the stairs. “The healer said any time between 37 and 42 weeks was normal. She’s 36 now, so not too early.”

“Oh, Salazar, we’ve got to go!”

“I know, I know!”

“Get the bag already, I’ll clean up this mess!” Malfoy’s face disappeared. Two minutes passed, and he was calling up the stairwell again. “Harry! What the devil are you doing up there? Come on!”

“I’m looking for the ruddy bag!” Harry replied.

“It’s down here! I moved it yesterday!”

“Oh, for the love of Merlin!” Came Harry’s response. He came crashing down the stairs, and Draco seized him by the upper arm, dragging him toward the floo.

 

 

Pansy had been in labor just over four hours when the healer announced that the baby was crowning. She had paused in her breathing to flash a smile over at Harry who was tending to Draco.

Draco was doubled over in the corner of the room, breathing in and out of a paper sack that Harry had kept in his coat pocket for just such a purpose. One of the healer’s aides had gone for a calming draught a minute ago.

“Salazar!” Blaise said with alarm. “You’d think he was the one giving birth!”

Harry patted Draco on the back gently, and grinned at Blaise. “You know he can be a little melodramatic from time to time,”

“I’m right here!” Draco reminded them angrily, pulling the bag away from his mouth only momentarily before the healer announced that she saw the shoulders.

With a quick pull, the baby Pansy had grown with Draco’s seed was delivered, screaming into the cold world. 

“It’s a boy!” The healer announced, and Draco sighed with relief. 

Harry stepped forward to clip the cord, and after the baby was wrapped, the healer tried to place it in Pansy’s arms, but she waved her away with an exhausted smile. “Give him to Draco.

Draco was quickly ushered into a rocking chair and the screaming bundle was delivered into his arms. Harry gave him a smile of reassurance, then leaned forward to brush the blanket back away from the baby’s face, and smoothed it’s still wet and wispy brown hair to one side.

“Oh!” Draco said in surprise, and the three of them looked at him. “I….I was expecting a blond,” He said sheepishly.

“Did I forget to tell you?” Blaise said with a grin. “Pansy only makes dark-haired babies.”

“And he’ll have green eyes, too.” Harry said with a smile. “You know, Pansy said if I agreed to using her as a surrogate, there was a good chance he’d have brown hair and green eyes, like me, even with your sperm, Draco.”

“How very Slytherin of you, Harry,” Draco conceded weakly.

Harry clapped his hand down on Draco’s shoulder, then leaned closer. “Don’t worry, Luna said she’d carry our next one, and with her coloring, you’re sure to have your blond!”

“Oy, Potter!” Draco exclaimed. “How many babies do you think we’re having?”

“Well,” He said with a wide grin. “We do have the Weasley’s to compete with!”

 

 

The End.


End file.
